Elegiad
by SemperIntrepida
Summary: It's the moments in between that decide everything... In which Kassandra the Eagle Bearer journeys on her own Odyssey. Based on a canon playthrough, this is a series of one-shots that fills in the blanks between what we see in the game and what we don't.
1. Fledgling

Kassandra learned the enormity of the price on her head as soon as she reached the outskirts of Sami, by the way the townspeople dropped their eyes as she passed, their whispers carrying the words "Cyclops" and "coin" and "dead" across the salty air. That the Cyclops searched for her was nothing new. What was new was the bounty he'd sponsored, backed by cold, hard drachmae—enough to buy a family passage off the island. Enough to start a new life. After fifteen years in Kephallonia, Kassandra knew everyone in Sami by name, and they knew hers. But the Kephallonian Way was to look out for yourself first. Old friends could easily become new dangers.

She tied Phobos's halter to a picket line near the market, mildly surprised that her hands were steady as she worked the rope into a knot. Markos's constant scheming had brought them constant trouble; trouble she'd always been able to get them out of thanks to her intimidating presence and the occasional application of fists. But there was a big difference between punching thugs and crossing blades with a real mercenary, especially the kind that would go after a bounty as sizeable as the one on her head right now. The churn in her guts was getting harder to ignore. She swallowed hard and patted Phobos's neck, feeling solid muscle under her palm. Maybe he'd lend her some of his strength while she figured out what the Hades she was going to do now.

The market was bustling as always, with the shouts of merchants and children hanging in the air and a menagerie of animals pecking and scratching in the salt-crusted dust. It was only a short walk to the docks, and that's where she'd start asking questions. Some mercenary had to have picked up her contract by now, and she needed to know who she was up against. Trade goods weren't the only things unloaded from ships.

It was impossible to ignore the hush that followed her as she passed. Voices lowered. And was she imagining those mothers pulling their children close and whispering in their ears? "Don't end up like poor Kassandra, children. Killed by a real misthios."

She needed her information quick, and then to get herself gone, away from Sami where she could plan her next moves. She snagged the shipbuilder's boy by his tunic as he scurried past and got him talking by flashing a coin. Yes, a ship had arrived yesterday with passengers. Yes, a bunch of them were armed, but they mostly stuck close to one really rich guy who wore blue robes. Except for the mercenary. He kept to himself.

"A mercenary, eh?"

The boy nodded. "He's not as big as you, but the sailors said he had fists made of stone and that he could knock a bull out with one punch."

Kassandra flipped the drachma into his palm, and she sat back on her haunches and watched him disappear into the bustle of the dockyard. She knew of only one man who matched the sailors' description, and that was Talos the Stone Fist. He'd done jobs in Kephallonia before, always for the Cyclops, who was the only one on the island with enough drachmae to pay a misthios's rates. Kassandra had never crossed paths with him, but she knew he was old for a mercenary. Not that that mattered much—any steps he'd lost to age were made up for by experience. His years had been spent fighting real battles for real coin, not roughing up thugs and knocking over merchants' pots for pitiful handfuls of drachmae. The thought of it sent a chill down the back of her neck. Talos could still be in Sami. He could still be in the dockyard. He could be watching her right now.

She resisted the urge to wrap her hand around the handle of her sword. Instead, she rose to her feet and strode up the path back to the market, setting her shoulders and playing up the swagger, trying to project a confidence she didn't really feel to the eyes she knew were following her.

Phobos saw right through it, of course, and he snorted softly into her hair and nudged his muzzle into her chest as she untied him and gathered up the reins. "It's all right, boy," she said. "We're not in trouble yet."

She set out towards Pali. If Talos wanted to find her, she'd make him look in the shadowed forests of the Cursed Valley. And she wasn't planning to hide, for she had far too many tasks yet to be done: Drucilla the bowyer still had a missing shipment of lumber that needed finding. And the temple priestess still needed Kassandra to retrieve that missing spear. And the Cyclops himself had to be dealt with once and for all...

She'd handle them one thing at a time.

.oOo.

At the lumberyard, it didn't take Kassandra long to figure out that Drucilla's wayward shipment had been looted by bandits, and clumsy ones at that. They'd left fragments of wood behind, and deep gouges raked the forest duff into a trail that pointed straight to a nearby shipyard as brightly as one of Apollo's arrows.

She watched the bandits from a hidden perch on a rocky escarpment overlooking the dock, while Ikaros circled high overhead and the sun sank to meet the water at the horizon's edge. There were seven bandits by her count: four tasked with moving the lumber closer to the dock, and three to keep watch. As she watched them struggle with their misbegotten goods, dusk smeared the sky orange and purple, and in due time, Helios's disappearing chariot lit a sunpath over the water as the shadows darkened a trail down to the docks.

The first bandit was too easy; he wasn't even looking in the right direction, instead distracted by one of the many chickens roaming about. She approached him from behind and wrapped one arm around his neck while covering his mouth with her other hand, pulling her forearm tight against the side of his throat until his body went limp beneath her.

The next four were grouped together, and she took the first two by bashing their heads against each other like rotten melons. Another bandit went down with a palm strike to the forehead, but she couldn't get to the last before he'd turned tail with a shout. Torches were lit and the remaining bandits went into full alert, but there were only three of them now and those were the kind of odds that she liked.

She drew her sword and her broken spear and faced the nearest bandit as he attacked in a headlong rush, blindly, stupidly, giving up the numbers advantage in his panicked charge. Three against one was a challenge. One against one made her smile, and she swept his blade aside with the point of her spear and slammed the pommel of her sword into his nose as hard as her strength would let her. He dropped to the ground with a howl and a spray of blood.

The last two bandits were a tall woman and a lanky man. The man wore quilted leather and was armed with a cudgel, but the woman wore a full breastplate and tassets and wielded a sharp-looking gladius. Better gear came with power. This woman was probably the captain of this operation; the man her second-in-command.

They attacked in tandem, but they were only two against one and Kassandra turned the cudgel aside with her spear and the gladius with her sword. The edge of the gladius glinted in the torchlight and she used its flash to keep track of the captain's location as the three of them circled around each other. The chickens and goats in the yard had reached a state of full panic and were milling about the edges of the torchlight, raising an ungodly ruckus of noise and movement between the shadows. Kassandra kept her feet balanced and moving, pivoting to keep both bandits in front of her. Then the man leapt toward her and swung his cudgel at her head wildly, more as a distraction than anything else, and she dropped low and took out his knee with a sweeping kick before rolling out of the path of the captain's gladius.

Broken knee was crawling out of the edge of her vision and she let him go in order to focus on the captain, who was turning out to be more than just competent with a sword, and thus more skilled than most anyone Kassandra had ever fought on this backwater of an island.

Metal struck metal as they tested each other's defenses, always circling, always moving. Neither had the advantage of reach, and Kassandra was quickly running out of tricks to try that could break an opponent's guard. She'd have to keep up her defense and outlast the other woman. Far more interesting than knocking out thugs and breaking pots.

The muscles in Kassandra's shoulders warmed with the exertion of swinging two blades, and her blood felt hot and rich. She felt herself smile, and noted how it made her opponent twitch in alarm. Good. The captain's attacks began to falter, and Kassandra sensed opportunity. The gladius swung towards her on a downstroke, and she parried the blow with ease, only realizing a moment too late that the attack had been a ruse, as the captain suddenly used the parry's momentum to pivot the direction of her blade. Kassandra leapt backwards, felt a sear across her belly and anger in her blood as she parried the next two strikes in quick succession. She caught the next attack with the edge of her sword, then relaxed just enough to bring her opponent in closer while drawing her slightly off balance. It was all the opening Kassandra needed to break through the captain's guard and drive the spear so deep into her belly that the blade disappeared entirely.

Then Kassandra felt it: the liquid thrill that ran down her spine every time she killed someone with the spear, a spark of satisfaction that tinted the edges of her vision red. It lasted as long as it took for her to pull the spear free of the bandit captain's belly, and then all that remained was a queasy feeling and the coppery smell of blood all over her hands.

She heard the sound of clapping, then. Loud and booming, it cracked in counterpoint to the bandit captain's wet gasps as she lay dying at Kassandra's feet.

The source of the clapping was a bearded, broad-shouldered man in a full set of armor, golden greaves and all. "That was a good show, girl," he said, drawing his sword and taking a step towards her.

Golden greaves, an iron sword, and a breastplate that cost more drachmae than Kassandra had ever earned working for Markos. Gear fit for a successful mercenary. This had to be Talos the Stone Fist.

"The people in Sami said I could find you by following the sound of the nearest fight. They weren't wrong. And your bounty will keep me in wine and whores for months."

Kassandra tightened her grip on the spear and turned to face him. Her right side stung and her chiton was cut and wet with blood. She wore no armor and had little but a broken spear and a cheap bronze sword. So she did what anyone with half a basket of sense would do when faced with a far more powerful opponent.

She ran.

.oOo.

Talos might have had the upper hand in experience and equipment, but Kassandra had roamed this part of Kephallonia since she was a girl. She knew the crags and hollows of the Cursed Valley, and Artemis smiled upon her from behind a sliver of moon. As she sprinted on forest paths she didn't need light to find, she could near Talos crashing through the forest underbrush behind her. But then she heard Ikaros's hunting cry and a shouted curse, and then the crashing noises veered away and began to fade, and she kept running and climbing until she reached a sheltered grotto in a ravine formed by rock walls and falling water.

She knelt by the shadow-dark pools, took a deep breath, and listened hard over the sound of her heart pounding. Nothing but the musical trickle of water and the occasional flap of a great pair of wings circling somewhere overhead. She sent a whisper of thanks to Ikaros, and plunged her arms into icy water up to her elbows.

The darkness within the pooled water hid the blood that sloughed off her hands and forearms, and kept her from being completely sure she had washed it all away, if that was even possible. An eternity of scrubbing would be as futile as moving Sisyphos's boulder.

With a sigh, she unbuckled her swordbelt and untied the cord that held her chiton in place, casting it aside before stripping the garment up and over her head. The cut across her belly was clean and shallow, thank the gods, and only a handspan wide. If she could get it to stop bleeding, she might even avoid a visit to the physician.

She needed rest and food, and to mend her chiton, and sharpen the new gouges out of the edges of her blades, and then after that she needed to figure out how to kill Talos the Stone Fist without getting killed first.

Rest now. Stop bleeding. Wait till sunrise. Her hunter would be found in the light.

.oOo.

For all his boasting about how easy Kassandra was to find, Talos wasn't hard to track down himself, and thus avoid, in the days after their encounter at the shipyard. Kassandra patched up her gear, let her wound get a good start at healing, and kept one step ahead of Talos by constantly staying on the move.

The Stone Fist proved to be a less than cunning hunter, preferring to stick to a patrol of sorts between Sami, Markos's vineyard, and her home to the south. His predictability extended to the evenings, where he spent his time drinking wine in a kapeleion near the Temple of Zeus before retiring to a rented room down by the docks.

She formed a plan. She'd climb the roof of the Temple of Zeus, and would wait until after the priestesses went home and the temple torches burned down low. Let Talos wander by after a night of wine and song. She'd put an arrow straight into his skull.

The highest roof of the temple was crowned with large decorative akroteria at both ends, which made for perfect cover later that night as she nocked an arrow and aimed at her target below. She inhaled, focused on the squeeze and thump of her own heartbeat, and when her hands reached the steady point between beats she let the arrow fly. The silvery bolt flew true, threading the needle of Talos's eye socket with a sodden thud.

But to her horror, the bastard didn't die.

"Kassandra!" he bellowed.

"That arrow suits you," she shouted from behind the akroterion. Let its heavy stone protect her while she gathered her wits and figured out a new plan.

"Come down here and face me, you daughter of a whore," he shouted. He was closer now, almost to the base of the temple's columns.

Her hands squeezed her bow until the wood began to creak. Her eyes narrowed, and she tossed her bow aside and stood up to full height. "Let me introduce you to Hades," she said, drawing both of her blades and beckoning him to join her.

She heard Talos climbing up the column to the first level of the roof, and once he clambered upon it, she took a step back, inviting him up to the second level where she stood. The arrow's fletching protruded from his eye socket grotesquely. She had no idea how he was still alive, much less able to climb to the roof of a temple. Perhaps Zeus was displeased at her choice of a venue.

To Hades with Zeus, and to Hades with Talos. Her anger was flowing now, crackling along her veins like golden sparks from a smith's hammer.

Talos suddenly leapt up to meet her, and at that moment her rage took over. She reared back and kicked him square in the chest with so much force that he flew off the roof entirely, his cry of surprise following him down over the edge.

She scrambled across the roof and peered down the side of the temple. Talos's body lay in a broken heap on the stones far below. Lights began to glow from torches being lit in the homes nearby. There wasn't much time if she wanted to claim Talos's purse—and his gear. She'd look damn good in a set of golden greaves...

.oOo.

Kassandra set the heavy bundle down on her bed. She raised her arms and stretched as much as she could without worrying the healing cut at her belly. Her muscles ached with the remnants of last night's rage, but she grinned with satisfaction and more than a little wonder. Where in Tartaros had that kick come from? She'd certainly never done it before, but there's no way she'd forget how to do it now. Another arrow for her quiver of tricks.

She bent down and unwrapped the bundle, then laid its contents out across the rough woolen blanket that covered her bed. A full chestplate. Leather tassets. A set of bracers and greaves. And a fresh chiton made of fine white linen to wear underneath it all, the spoils she'd earned by defeating Talos the Stone Fist.

And it fit perfectly too, every piece of it, as she found after she put it all on and adjusted the various straps and buckles. She felt huge and powerful. She felt like a real—

"Misthios," Phoibe whispered from behind her.

Kassandra turned and smiled. "Little sneak," she said, then spread her arms. "How do I look?"

Phoibe's eyes were wide. "Like a hero sent by Zeus."

So she looked good enough to awe a child. Kassandra had to laugh in amusement at that. "Well, this hero is hungry. What say you and I run up to Markos's vineyard and rustle up something to eat?" She took Phoibe's hand in her own, and together they walked out of the hovel and up the path to Mount Ainos, and it was already shaping up to be a very fine day.


	2. The Price of Greatness

There was a woman locked in a cage within the ruins of the Halls of Odysseus, a curious sight in the place where clever Penelope once defended her hearth and her virtue from a mob of unwanted suitors, a place that now echoed with the footsteps of thieves and snarling dogs as they patrolled its crumbling remains. Kassandra surveyed the ruins from the highest of the surviving walls, the thieves reduced to figures in miniature far below. The sun had just begun to rise, casting slanted shadows that made the figures disappear and reappear, like a trick of the gods, or an attempt by spirits to impede her search for the treasure she was there for.

The cage sat in the furthest corner of the ruins away from her current perch. In between, the place was crawling with thieves; twelve at least, maybe fifteen. And somewhere down below, also, was the reason she was here: the Shroud of Penelope, stolen from a rich man who could pay well to get it back.

Kassandra swung herself over the edge of the wall and began climbing back down the darkened cornice she'd come up on, digging her fingers into decaying mortar between stone blocks. She lowered herself down slowly, careful not to dislodge any pebbles or set her swordbelt clanking. There were too many thieves here to be careless.

She descended far enough to bring a group of them within earshot, their conversation barely audible above the morning songs of birds and the buzzing of insects awakening from cold slumber by the warming rays of Helios's crown.

"What will we do with the woman?" one of the voices asked.

"Ransom her." This voice was deeper, with the harsh edge of someone who was used to his orders being followed. The leader of this group, then. "She comes from money. Find out where to send the demand."

A third voice said something then, but Kassandra couldn't make out the words.

"Fine." The leader's voice again. "Have your fun but leave her face pretty."

Kassandra wasn't about to sit idly by and watch that happen, and if this mystery woman was as rich as the bandits thought, maybe Kassandra would end up with a little extra coin as a reward along with the favor of the gods. Her pulse sped up and she resumed her descent down the wall until her sandals reached the dirt. She crouched and flexed the tension out of her hands and fingers as she peered around the corner and scouted her chosen path to the cage on the other side.

She would have preferred to wait until nightfall to infiltrate the ruins and steal back the Shroud, but the leader's directive required an immediate change of plans. She'd start by taking a path around the base of the palace's outer wall, using the plentiful foliage nearby for cover. The birds were wide awake now, along with other forest creatures, and their songs and cries seemed to lament the palace's lost splendor.

As she crept closer to the cage, she caught glimpses of two men on a parallel course to her own. She picked up her pace to match, until she was close enough to see the cage and its captive clearly. She ducked behind a section of wall barely large enough to hide her, and waited.

The woman in the cage stood up as the men approached. She was slim and dark haired, and one of the men must have said something to her that Kassandra couldn't hear, because she suddenly slammed her hands against the bars and shouted, "Fucking _make me_."

She was brave, at least. The men began to laugh, and that was Kassandra's cue to start moving. She came up behind them, tapped one on the shoulder, and punched him square in the nose as he turned. The other got a knee straight to the gut and a double-fisted blow to the back of his head. Both men out cold, before they'd even had a chance to shout a warning.

Kassandra reached down and snagged a rusty key that hung from one man's waistbelt, using it to unlock the padlock on the cage. The woman stared at her as the cage door swung open. "Let's get out of here," Kassandra said. "Can you fight?"

Her question seemed to shake the surprise out of the woman. "I'd be happy to," she said. She moved gracefully, more like a priestess than a fighter. What could she be doing all the way out here?

Kassandra reached down and slid her arms under the armpits of one of the unconscious thieves. "Grab that one," she said, nodding over to the smaller man.

They dragged the limp bodies into some nearby bushes, out of sight, though of course all bets were off the moment someone noticed the cage was no longer occupied. Until then, they had a few moments to size each other up, and get answers to the question that hung over them both: _Who are you?_

The woman's name was Odessa. A descendent of Odysseus himself, she claimed, though all that did was make Kassandra roll her eyes internally. And the thieves were right: Odessa _did_ come from money. Kassandra could see it in the way she carried herself, the expectation behind the things she said – that the world would somehow conspire to give her everything she wanted. How lucky for her that Kassandra had arrived to rescue her and clear the area of danger so she could explore the palace.

How lucky for Kassandra that Odessa had the means to pay for it. "Looks like we both need something out of these ruins," she said. "We could work together."

"Those bastards took my gear and left it around the corner over there. I could help you fight if I had it."

The thieves seemed to prefer patrolling the central parts of the ruins, so Kassandra retrieved Odessa's bow and quiver easily enough. The bow was well made, with tidy silver fittings and a nicely worked leather grip – and judging by its wear, it had also seen a surprising amount of use. She'd guess target practice more than actual battle, but one could never tell.

Odessa slung the bow and quiver over her shoulder. "Now what do you want me to do?"

"Aim for archers and dogs. And try not to shoot me."

That angered her. "Do you take me for a fool?"

"I just took you from a cage. Curious how you ended up in it."

Odessa nodded in concession. "You're right, I was careless. I won't make that mistake again."

"Good," Kassandra said. "Let's hope your aim is as true as your namesake's." She reached down and sketched a rough outline of the ruins in the dust. "Now here's where I'm going to go."

As she drew out her plan, a rustle within the branches next to them signaled that one of the thieves had returned from Hypnos's realm too early. She clouted him behind his ear and sent him back to dreamland.

"They'll both wake up eventually," she said, "so we'll need to move quickly."

Odessa frowned. "You could just kill them." Apparently she thought life was cheap, or perhaps she'd never done it herself and just assumed it was easy, that there weren't costs to bear later on, in the quiet times of night that invited visits from the spirits of the conscience.

Kassandra gave her a long look. "Have you ever killed someone?"

"No."

"I'm not getting paid enough to kill every thief in this ruin. But with some luck, we won't have to."

They began by climbing the remnants of a nearby building. Once they reached the roof, Kassandra took the lead, sneaking up behind an archer daydreaming at his post and stealing his breath from him with a squeeze of her bracered forearm. She motioned for Odessa to move to a shadowed corner near the archer's previous post. From this vantage, she'd be able to cover almost the entire ruin with bowshot.

"If someone raises an alarm, start shooting," Kassandra whispered, and Odessa readied her bow.

Kassandra climbed back the way they came, dropping to the ground and silently moving from dark corner to corner until she came upon two thieves betting on a game of knucklebones played in the dirt. A thrown pebble distracted them both long enough for her to draw in close and throw quick elbow strikes – one, two – leaving two senseless bodies behind.

A moving shadow sped across the ruins before her, its blade-like shape coming from the pair of wings she knew was circling high overhead. _Not yet, Ikaros,_ she thought. _Not just yet._

She worked her way along the walls, back towards the thief she suspected was the leader. He was alone, standing with his back to her as he rummaged through clay pots that probably held wine. Her hand slipped back for her broken spear, and then she took one step, two steps, three, and slammed the blade up through his spine, the point of the spear ending up somewhere deep in his chest. He died with a soggy gurgle as his body slumped to the ground.

The sudden scent of hot metal sent a familiar pleasure surging through her, enveloping her in its warmth. She pulled her spear from the man's back and flipped his body over. When she lifted the edge of his chestplate, she saw the unmistakeable flash of Tyrian purple tucked inside the front of his waistbelt. She carefully pulled out the length of fabric. It wouldn't do to sully the Shroud of Penelope with a dead thief's blood.

She looked around quickly. There, on a shelf of supplies against the wall, was a row of amphorae that would make a fine hiding place for her prize. She placed the Shroud in a darkened hollow behind them, and it was a good thing she had, for at that moment a dog wandered around the corner and spotted her. It began to bark furiously and launched itself upon her, all claws and flashing teeth, and she extended her forearm just in time for slavering jaws to clamp hard around her bracer instead of her hand.

The attack dog's claws scratched at her armor as she held her arm away from her body. She gutted the beast with a flick of the spear, then jammed the spear's broken handle into the dog's mouth to pry apart the jaws locked around her arm. She'd have one Hades of a bruise there later.

There was shouting now, all across the ruins. She hoped Odessa was doing her part. How many thieves were left? Eight? Nine?

She ran towards the nearest wall, using her momentum to propel herself up to the second floor, or what was left of it, anyway, the wooden planks left broken and splintered as the building collapsed upon itself. A quick look around the ruins showed a handful of thieves headed for Odessa, and another handful headed for her.

She watched them approach through a broken gap in the wall, noting their weapons and armor. Heavily armed to a man. Taking them on all at once would be foolhardy.

As she focused her attention on the man at the very back of the group, a peculiar feeling sparked into her right hand from where it grasped the handle of her spear, and then the feeling raced up her arm and neck, a spark of energy and… _movement?_ – and then she was launching herself off the building, an impossible leap that ended with her spear impaling itself in the man's throat, followed by another impossibly fast pivot and her spear gutting another, and by the time she rolled to her feet, two thieves were dead and the advantage was all hers.

Angry streaks of red blurred the edges of her vision as she drew her sword and entered the fray. The warmth that had enveloped her earlier had only grown; it seemed to elevate her senses and insulate her from any doubts, and then the thieves began to move in ways that were utterly predictable. Turn _this_ thief's knife aside with the spear and block _that_ thief's sword with her own. Pivot and crouch. Thrust the spear up through this one's jaw and into his skull. Plant her sword in the belly of another. Flip the spear in her fingers and swing back around to sink its blade deep into the neck of the last. Feel the pleasure, sultry and luxuriant, as it sang to her _more, more, more_…

Ikaros's warning cry snapped her attention back to the corner of the ruins where she'd left Odessa. She broke into a full run, passed one thief who was trying to crawl away with an arrow embedded in his thigh and another one face down in the dust with an arrow in his back. She saw one climbing up the building and leapt up after him, and once he was within reach she pulled him down off the wall and onto the broken stones below. Then she was reaching, grasping, long muscles of thigh propelling her up and onto the roof, where she saw Odessa backed into a corner, bow drawn, facing off with a pair of thieves.

A failed rescue paid no drachmae. Kassandra launched herself at the nearest man, leaving the spear lodged in his back as Odessa fired an arrow into the neck of the other. The arrow's impact brought him to a halt, his eyes wide as his fingers reached for the bundle of feathers jutting out from his throat, just before his body went rigid and he toppled sideways off the roof.

Then there was silence, even among the birds and forest creatures, who knew to stay quiet in dangerous times.

Kassandra approached Odessa slowly, holding her empty hands out to her sides and trying not to startle the other woman. Then Odessa turned and looked at her, and Kassandra saw her go pale under her tanned skin.

Kassandra looked down at herself and found that she was covered in blood. The sight made the feeling of pleasure that clung to her – the blood craving, or whatever it was – evaporate away like smoke from a burnt offering. To what god it would be delivered to, she could not say. She swallowed down a wave of bile and gestured humorlessly across the ruins. "This is not the first time great Odysseus's palace has witnessed a bloodbath."

Odessa reached out and placed two fingers on Kassandra's cheek. "Your eyes… So dark," she said, and when she pulled her hand back, Kassandra saw that her fingertips were smeared with blood. "I looked in them and for a moment I saw Hades himself."

"This is what killing looks like."

Long ago, Kassandra had been forced to come to terms with the things she did to survive, but now, remembering warmth and power, she wondered if she'd crossed the line between survival and enjoyment.

Society understood killing for survival. It even condoned killing for profit, or for greatness. But killing for pleasure? What would that make her?

They stood there for a long time, saying nothing, until Kassandra could no longer stand the sticky feeling of blood clotting on her skin. She turned away wordlessly and began walking to the edge of the roof.

Odessa's voice stopped her. "Kassandra. Meet me down in the cove. I'll have your payment for you there."

Kassandra turned back just enough for Odessa to see her nod, and then she was gone, searching for flowing water and a way to distract herself from questions she wasn't ready to answer.

.oOo.

The sun was high overhead by the time Kassandra arrived at the cove. Her armor was still damp and her hair had finally dried enough for her to plait it back into her customary braid. There'd also been the matter of the Shroud, which required taking a detour back through the ruins to retrieve it from its hiding place. She felt it now, silky against her skin from where she'd tucked it inside her chiton.

She found Odessa sitting on a driftwood log, staring out over the water at the boats coming in and out of Sami. She seemed so small and out of place. Odessa stood at the sound of Kassandra's footsteps and turned to her.

"I killed men back there," she said. Her voice was flat, emotionless.

Kassandra thought of the thief that Odessa had shot through the throat, and how his fingers reached for feathers before he failed to fly on his own. "It's likely, yes."

"I don't feel any different. At least, I don't think I do."

"Not everyone reacts the same way."

Odessa paused, then said, "You know, I came here looking for a way to understand my namesake."

"Did you find what you were looking for?"

"Not at all." Odessa shook her head. "But I did learn that there's a price I might have to pay for greatness, if I still want it at all."

"And do you?"

Odessa turned her gaze back to the water. The moment lengthened, and the boats of Sami continued to glide across the waves. Eventually, she said, "There's so much I desire. To be as great as Odysseus, where would I even begin?"

"If you want Odysseus's greatness, you have to do it your own way. He was famous because of his cunning. What have you done?"

Odessa's eyes flashed. "I traveled all the way here!" She was beautiful in a way, all privilege and indignation.

"To see the ruins of Odysseus's life," Kassandra pointed out. "Not live your own."

"Is every misthios so generous with advice?"

Something stirred within Kassandra, a longing for distraction, for something that could wipe away the residue of dark pleasure that still clung to her from this morning. "Maybe this misthios finds her generosity inspired by beauty."

Color rose in Odessa's cheeks. "So you're planning to visit Aphrodite's Temple in Kythera someday."

"I was thinking of visiting her temple on this island… right now."

That made Odessa laugh. "You _are_ forward, aren't you?" She looked Kassandra up and down, as if making up her mind. "I suppose I could take time from my quest to thank you properly. But not on this beach. All this sand…"

"I'm sure you have a bed somewhere we can use."

That made Odessa's lips curve into a smirk, and Kassandra leaned forward and kissed her, while putting an arm around her waist and pulling her in close. She felt tiny in Kassandra's arms, and it took no effort at all to lift her up from the sand. She wrapped her legs around Kassandra's waist and pointed the way to a hidden campsite in between kisses of growing intensity.

By the time Kassandra set her down gently on the bedroll, Odessa was almost frantic, fluttering like a caged bird as Kassandra stripped her of her dress and discovered that there was a downside to wearing a nice set of armor – taking it all off when in a hurry. Kassandra held Odessa down with one hand on her belly while using her other to cast off pieces of armor to and fro, until they were finally skin-to-skin, Odessa's hot breath against her throat and sweat under her palms.

Kassandra traced Odessa's outlines with her hands: the curve of hip, the slope of belly. She trailed kisses down Odessa's throat. She took her time, ignoring the huffing breaths that Odessa was making with increased frequency, and letting her own desire build and build. It had been too long since she'd taken someone to bed, felt the power of making another person need in their deepest, most hidden places. She smiled and dipped kisses between Odessa's breasts, kisses that said _I know you want this, show me how much_.

"Gods… please."

"There's only one god in this temple," Kassandra said before sucking a nipple between her lips and lavishing it with her tongue. Then she nipped it gently with her teeth. "…but she says you'll just have to wait." Odessa cried out softly and thrust her hips forward in supplication. Oh yes, Kassandra had almost forgotten how much fun this could be.

Kassandra slid a hand down Odessa's hip — such fragility in those bones underneath — and then between her legs, stroking the fine skin softly, languidly, as if time no longer meant anything at all.

Kisses. Soft skin of breast and thigh. Odessa's stomach muscles straining as she thrust herself against Kassandra, wings beating against the cage, and Kassandra wanted, _needed_, to be inside her, and then she was: thrusting, searching for the lock that secured Odessa's need. It shattered as her fingers reached someplace far within, and then Odessa was free and soaring, her cry triumphant as she flew on unseen currents, far away from a world of blood and thieves.

Kassandra closed her eyes and enjoyed feeling Odessa's pleasure ripple through her fingers. She enjoyed knowing that she was its source, and it pushed away her lingering darkness and replaced one sort of craving for another. She wanted to see Odessa's back arch in ecstasy a second time, wanted to hear her cry out again as she came, and so Kassandra withdrew her fingers and started over, until she got exactly what she wanted.

Much later, they sat side by side on the blankets, enjoying cups of wine and the dance of clouds at sunset, when Odessa leaned in close for another kiss and said, "More. Now."

Kassandra was more than happy to oblige.

.oOo.

She awoke the moment Odessa began to stir, but kept her eyes closed and her breathing deep and even as Odessa slipped away from her grasp and quietly crept around the campsite, gathering her belongings into a bag. There wasn't much, and it only took a few moments before Odessa went still again. Kassandra risked a peek from between her lashes. Odessa was a silhouette against the water, unmoving, lost in thought. Kassandra wondered what she'd do next. Would she turn and say something? Or would she leave and say nothing at all.

Kassandra felt herself being watched, and after several moments Odessa sighed and set something down in the dirt beside the cold ashes of the campfire. Then she was gone, headed toward the boats moored in the cove down below, headed to Sami. By the time Helios blazed high overhead, she'd be on a ship sailing east, heading home, wherever that was.

Kassandra lay there for a long time, the pleasure she'd felt while making love to Odessa still wrapped around her muscles. It _had_ been too long since she'd done this. Maybe that's why she'd started to feel so strangely during battles. Let a field lay fallow for long enough and weeds would eventually move in. Maybe a body denied pleasure in one way would seek it from another.

Kephallonia was a place of small dreams, and its people had become too familiar. She was tired of doing the same jobs over and over. She was tired of waiting for increasingly rare visits from attractive strangers she could flirt with. She understood, then, what could drive someone to search for something more, something greater.

Perhaps Kephallonia had become her cage.

She reached over and plucked the pouch Odessa had left behind out of the dirt. It was heavy with drachmae. Just a business transaction.

She would leave Kephallonia soon, she decided. She thought of Penelope's Shroud and the man who had hired her to retrieve it. Elpenor. He'd be her ticket out. She'd make sure of that.

But for now, she'd lay right here, feeling the blanket beside her grow cold as she waited for the sun to rise, thinking of pleasures light and dark, and what greatness actually meant.


	3. Farewell to the King of Kephallonia

Kassandra heard the patter of footsteps skipping up the path long before the person they belonged to arrived at her door, but she recognized them instantly, and her stomach clenched as she realized they meant she'd have to have a conversation she wasn't at all ready for. She gathered the corners of her blanket around the pitifully small bundle of belongings that made up everything she owned in this world, and tied them together into a knot. There was no hiding what she was doing.

Moments later, a small child burst into the room at top speed in both motion and words. "Kassandra! Youkilledthe_Cyclops!_ The whole island's talking about you–"

Kassandra let go of the knotted blanket and turned around to greet her visitor. "Hello, Phoibe."

Phoibe's eyes darted between the bundle on the bed, to Kassandra's face, and back again, a look of uncertainty creasing her features, but she was too clever to remain confused for long. "You're leaving?"

Kassandra nodded, then knelt so their eyes were at the same level.

"Why? How?"

"Someone offered me a contract in Megaris." She didn't say what the contract was for. "And I have a ship that'll take me there."

"Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?" Phoibe asked, her voice seeming to shrink smaller and smaller.

"No!" Kassandra said. She reached out and put her hand on the girl's shoulder. "I would never."

Phoibe's eyes searched Kassandra's face. "Take me with you?" she asked. "I can help you. I can watch and listen for things, or deliver messages for you. I won't get in your way."

Kassandra would not take a child into a war zone. And Phoibe would be safer on the island now that the Cyclops and his thugs were out of the picture. But knowing it was the right thing to do didn't make the idea of breaking a child's heart any easier. "Kephallonia's the only place you've ever known. You'd leave your home?"

"I would if it meant staying with you."

It wouldn't be just one heart breaking. Not at all, though Kassandra was surprised by how unready she was to say goodbye. Phoibe had been a constant in Kassandra's life since the day a pair of sailors tossed a ragged little four year old on Markos's doorstep along with a suggestive "We hear Markos is good with little girls" that earned each of them a broken nose courtesy of Kassandra's fists.

Kassandra looked at Phoibe and shook her head. "You can't go where I'm going." She felt a prickle in her eyes and swallowed hard.

"Who's going to keep you company?"

She smiled and tried to mean it. "I'll be fine."

Phoibe thought for a moment, then wriggled out of Kassandra's grasp. "Wait here," she said as she dashed out the door. Kassandra heard Phoibe's sandals scraping against the stucco wall as they climbed to the roof, then the sound of footsteps running overhead before they turned around and came back. When Phoibe reappeared in the doorway moments later, she was holding a small wooden object in her hands.

She held it out to Kassandra. "If I can't go with you, take Chara."

Chara, a carving of an eagle in flight given to Phoibe by her mother. It was the only reminder Phoibe had left of her parents.

"Phoibe, I can't take this."

"Yes you can." She grabbed Kassandra's hand and turned it palm up before pressing Chara into it. "You need her to remember me. You have to remember me, or you won't ever come back." She was crying now.

"Oh, Phoibe." Kassandra set Chara gently on the bed, and then she opened her arms and let Phoibe come inside them, wrapping her in a hug and letting her cry out her loss and loneliness.

Kassandra knew saying goodbye would be hard, but not like this, not with a child sobbing in her arms and the needle-sharp teeth of guilt, oh gods, the guilt tearing at her stomach. Phoibe had somehow slipped inside her guard and she hadn't even noticed, not through the days they spent staying one step ahead of the Cyclops and his thugs, or the sleepless nights she'd stood watch over Phoibe's slumber, keeping the nightmares at bay.

She hadn't even noticed, just like she hadn't noticed the tears that now rolled down her own cheeks. She closed her eyes and held on to Phoibe for a long time, humming fragments of a lullaby she remembered from her own childhood. After a while, Phoibe's breathing began to even and her crying stopped. "I promise you," Kassandra said, "I'll come back. You haven't seen the last of me."

Phoibe squirmed around and looked up at her, and a small hand wiped at the tears on Kassandra's cheeks. "I'm going to miss you so much."

"I'm going to miss you too. That's why I have to come back. And someone has to make sure you stay out of trouble."

"Now that the Cyclops is dead, that will be easy," Phoibe said, her face brightening at the thought of it. "I wish I could have been there when you did it."

Kassandra shot her a look.

"But I'm too little, I know. How did he die?"

"Angry. And not easily. It took a lot of stabs to put down that brute."

Phoibe clucked her tongue in mock pity. "And your broken spear is so small…"

"Hey now, it's not just any broken spear."

"Oh I know, it's the Spear of Leonidas, King of Sparta, Hero of Greece, grandfather of–"

"So you've been listening to me after all." How easily they slipped into their familiar banter. "You know, I was about your age when my mother gave it to me."

"I wish my mater gave me a spear, but I got a wooden eagle instead."

"Well, you _are_ Athenian."

"And you're a Spartan. Aren't we supposed to fight each other?"

"Do you want to?"

Phoibe jumped up into a grappling stance, one of several Kassandra had taught her, and Kassandra grinned and went into a defensive guard from her knees. They sparred in slow motion, Kassandra occasionally murmuring suggestions, until she could sense Phoibe beginning to tire. Then she opened her defenses, letting Phoibe work her way into pinning her.

"I yield!" Kassandra said, as Phoibe tried her hardest to crush her with her nonexistent weight.

Phoibe sat up and grinned with pride. "If _you_ beat the Cyclops and _I_ beat you, that makes me the King of Kephallonia!"

"Well then, what are your orders, my King?" Kassandra asked, though she already had a good guess of what they would be.

Phoibe thought about it. "I was going to order you not to leave, but I know I shouldn't." She idly tapped a pattern into Kassandra's armor as she considered her options. "Let me walk with you to Sami. I want to see your ship."

"As you wish, my King."

A look of panic suddenly flashed across Phoibe's face. "I haven't made you late for it, have it?"

"No, it's my ship now. I get to decide when we leave."

Phoibe climbed to her feet and threw all her weight into helping Kassandra up. "Tell me how you got a ship. And how you fought the Cyclops. And–"

"Hold on, let me grab my things first," Kassandra said as she reached for her bundle on the bed.

Half a candlemark later, the two of them were on the path to Sami, Phoibe skipping circles around her as she hefted her belongings on one shoulder and cradled Chara in her other hand. She was just wrapping up her tale of how she'd rescued Barnabas from the Cyclops, and how that had earned her the services of his ship, the Adrestia, when they reached the edge of Markos's new vineyard.

As they approached the first of the vineyard's terraced rows, one of the boys working the vines spotted them and ran off towards the villa up above. Kassandra sighed, knowing it meant they'd get a visit from Markos just as soon as he could saunter down the villa's steps.

They'd hardly reached the crossroads at the edge of the vineyard before she felt his presence. She always did, like the unsettled changes in the air one felt before a storm, or in this case the appearance of trouble, because wherever Markos went, trouble wasn't far behind.

Kassandra turned at his approach and set her belongings down by her feet with Chara carefully perched on top.

"Leaving Kephallonia without saying goodbye to your dear Markos? Tell me it isn't true!"

She crossed her arms. "Well, you're here now, so it won't be true. Goodbye, Markos."

"What am I going to do now? I'll never be able to replace you."

"Learn to make wine? Enjoy life without debt now that I've killed the Cyclops for the both of us?"

"Come now, Kassandra. You never know when the vines will wither."

"I'm sure you'll manage."

"I suppose I could find another assistant. But it won't be easy!" His eyes flicked over to Phoibe and back, and the hairs at the nape of Kassandra's neck stood up.

"Be very careful about putting your assistants in danger, Markos." She spoke slowly and clearly, letting the implications hang over them both.

He blinked in surprise. "Of course, of course! Only the safest of errands! Now come here and give me a hug."

Her first reaction was to say no, to offer her forearm for him to clasp instead, but then she thought of the day she'd washed up on the shore like another piece of debris, injured and starving, and how he'd taken her in, fed her, and given her a place to stay while she rebuilt some kind of life out of the wreckage of her old one.

Markos had never done anything for free, but he had done _something_, which was more than most. And the silly fool had been the catalyst of the events that would get her off the island after all.

She sighed, opened her arms to give him a hug, and considered her debt to him paid in full.

"Goodbye, Markos," she said as she picked up her bundle and returned it to her shoulder. Sami was just over the hill. The Adrestia awaited.

She walked with Phoibe to the crest of the hill. Phoibe had stopped skipping, and had grown more and more quiet the closer they came to Sami.

"Be careful around Markos," Kassandra said. "His schemes are getting more risky."

"Now that the Cyclops is gone–"

"Now that the Cyclops is gone, others will try to take his place. Watch and wait it out, and don't choose any sides if you can help it."

"Like a misthios."

Kassandra nodded.

"I think I understand."

And Phoibe probably did. She'd always been a quick learner, and, like Kassandra, she'd already seen the best and worst of humanity at a terribly young age. Kassandra felt marginally better about leaving Phoibe here on this wretched island. Who knew, maybe Phoibe would end up ruling it as the actual King of Kephallonia someday.

"Where will you go, after Megaris?" Phoibe asked.

"I don't know. Athens, maybe. There's sure to be work for me there."

"Athens." Phoibe's voice had faded to a whisper, and Kassandra wondered if Phoibe felt the same twinge she did whenever someone mentioned Sparta, a kind of longing, curious and reverent. The she felt a tug at her belt, and saw Phoibe pointing ahead. "I see a ship! Is that yours?"

"That's the one." Kassandra couldn't help but grin upon seeing the Adrestia. _Her_ ship. Her ticket out. Of course she'd have to figure out a way to pay the crew and for all the upkeep, but there was a war going on and plenty of drachmae to be made if she was smart about it. She could go wherever she wanted, _do_ whatever she wanted, and if she was careful with her coin she might even be able to come back here and take Phoibe somewhere safe.

They arrived at the dock all too quickly, where Barnabas was waiting for her. "We're ready when you are, Captain," he said, gesturing for a passing deckhand to take Kassandra's belongings aboard. Then his eyes glanced at Phoibe before settling upon her, unasked questions lurking behind them.

Kassandra nodded at Phoibe. "Barnabas, this is Phoibe, the King of Kephallonia."

Bless him, he didn't miss a beat. He swept into a deep bow before Phoibe. "I'm honored to meet you, your Highness."

Phoibe laughed before she remembered her role, and Kassandra had a hard time keeping a straight face as the voice of a little girl pitched as low as it could go and said gravely, "The honor is mine, Barnabas. But now I command you to keep Kassandra safe as you travel the seas."

"You have my word on it, your Highness."

Kassandra kneeled and tried to smile through her tears. "Goodbye, Phoibe."

Phoibe threw her arms around her. "We'll see each other again."

"Yes." Kassandra placed a kiss on her forehead, and Phoibe gave her one final squeeze before pulling away.

"OK, you can leave now," she said, and then she was gone, running away at top speed through the docks to the market beyond.

Kassandra felt Barnabas studying her as she lifted herself back to her feet. She turned and met his gaze for several moments, ignoring the tears running down her cheeks, until he extended his hand and said to her, "Let us keep our promises."

She took a steadying breath before saying, "We will." Then she reached for his hand and stepped up on the gangplank, a first step towards the wide world beyond.


	4. Reckoning

The night before the Spartans invaded Megaris, the stray dogs that usually hung around the forward camp suddenly disappeared, and Kassandra overheard the men muttering about ill omens and unfavorable winds. A foreboding mood had enveloped the camp as soon as word of the invasion order had begun to spread, and it snuffed out the ribald jokes and dark humor that normally accompanied the places where the soldiers liked to gather.

The order to invade had come from the Wolf of Sparta, General of the Armies — a man once known in simpler times as Nikolaos, father of Kassandra and Alexios, and fifteen years ago he'd thrown her off a cliff because the Elders told him to.

Kassandra could not sleep, and in her restlessness she had wandered from her bedroll at the far edge of the fort's walls, where the non-citizens pitched their tents, and into the heart of the Spartan encampment. Now she was a stranger among the familiar, and though the Spartans didn't recognize her, she certainly knew them, for tradition was their way, and their ways rarely changed.

Soon after her arrival in Megaris, she'd taken up the Spartan habit of constantly wearing a helmet while stationed on the front, as a matter of caution given the volleys of Athenian arrows that often rained down on the fort. But she had another reason to obscure her face behind a helm, for it would make it harder for someone to connect her to her mother, or even to Leonidas, her grandfather. The Agiad bloodline ran deep, and it shone in her eyes and in the curve of her cheekbones.

It made her a ghost among the living.

She'd spent weeks in Megaris, present but unseen, undermining the Athenian forces from within and preparing the way for a full-scale Spartan invasion — all at the behest of Stentor, the Wolf's adopted son. Apparently it was as easy for the Wolf to obtain a new family as it was for him to destroy his old one. Though it rankled her greatly, she worked tirelessly under Stentor's command. She stole supplies from the Port of Nisaia, looted the state coffers out from under the stratego in command of Fort Geraneia, killed the misthios hired to organize the capital city's defenses, and then, soon after, assassinated the Megaran leader himself. The people of Megaris began to whisper of a Spartan ghost that walked among them, but it wasn't Sparta she had done all these things for, but herself. She would give the Wolf no choice but to meet her in person, and when the Wolf was no longer the Wolf, but just a man, she'd make him answer for the things he had done.

But first, she had a battle to survive.

She walked past tent after tent, hearing quiet voices, the occasional cough, someone snoring in the distance, and the soft rasp of blades against whetstones. There were hundreds of soldiers here, and hundreds more on the Athenian side, and soon they'd come together in a battle larger than anything she'd ever fought in before.

Her feet kept moving, past tents and campfires, drawn towards the ringing sound of metal against anvil. As she approached the smith's forge, she saw that the smith was a perioikoi — a free man, but not a citizen, one of the thousands who labored at the tasks the Spartans felt were beneath them, which were most things not involving combat or chariot racing.

"Eh, misthios!" he called out as she passed. "How about a new sword before tomorrow's excitement?"

That brought her closer to his stall, and to his table of wares: a variety of leaf-shaped spearheads, and a row of bronze and iron swords in the short xiphos and curved kopis styles that the Spartans favored. The deadly metal gleamed gold and silver in the glow of the forge.

"Go on, pick one up," he encouraged.

Her fingers curled around the smooth wooden handle of an iron-bladed xiphos, and she lifted it, felt its weight and balance, and then guided it through a series of slow, controlled swings. It was light — as light as her broken spear, and almost its same length, more a dagger than a sword.

"I'd forgotten that Spartans preferred shorter blades" she said.

The smith smirked. "They're long enough to reach an Athenian heart."

That was true, but only in very close combat, after the enemy had closed the distance and a spear only got in the way. She studied the sword, noted its straight lines and carefully inset fittings. Even the handle had been polished to a shine, the forge-light bringing out the layered depths within the grain of the wood. It was an excellent sword, and it would cost far more drachmae than she had the resources for, especially now that she had an entire ship to maintain and a crew to pay and feed. Everything she'd stolen from the Athenians in Megaris had been sold to make this month's wages.

"Beautiful work," she said, setting the sword down next to its brethren. "But my purse is a bit light at the moment."

The smith moved out from the shadows behind the table, and in the light she could see the rivulets of sweat that ran through the metal dust that coated his skin. His face was ruddy and his eyes were fixed into a squint from the heat blast of the forge. He looked her up and down. Then he tentatively reached for her sword hand, his eyebrow raised, asking her permission, and when she nodded yes, he took her hand in his own. His thick fingers prodded her palm and worked her wrist back and forth, looking for something unseen to her eyes. "Huh," he said, as if surprised. "You'd probably make a good smith. You're built for it."

She grinned and said, "Probably. But your job's safe for now."

He threw up his hands in mock surprise. "A misthios with a sense of humor! And on the eve of battle. You _are_ a strange one, aren't you?" He studied her face through his squint. "Let me see your sword."

Kassandra handed it over silently, and he hummed as he hefted it, gave it a few experimental swings, and held the hilt up to his nose so he could peer down the length of its blade.

"Well, it won't get you killed," he said. "But I can make it better." He took the sword back to his workbench and started tinkering, and she heard several loud hammer taps followed by the scrape of metal on a sharpening stone. The rhythmic sound was calming, and she watched the smith's shadow play against the stone chimney of the forge while he worked. After a while, he turned to a long strip of leather that hung from the roof beam and stropped the edges of the sword against it until they gleamed in the firelight. "There," he said when he was finished, handing the sword back to her. "Engraved with the mark of Ares. It'll be a little hungrier for blood from now on."

She tested the blade's edge against her thumbnail, pleased to see it shave slivers off with ease. He even managed to remove the deep gouges that she'd never been able to sharpen out on her own. But when she held out a palmful of drachmae in payment, he only picked out a few coins and left the rest.

"Ares guide your blade, misthios," he said. "Get yourself paid, and we'll see about getting you one of my swords."

Her visit with the smith had helped quiet some of the restlessness in her blood. She needed sleep, and dawn would arrive soon enough. She retraced her steps back through the tents, along the fort walls, and down to her bed, chasing Hypnos, and when she finally dreamed, she dreamt of falling.

.oOo.

Kassandra's first taste of organized battle began within the vanguard of the Spartan forces, a mix of free men, conscripted helots, and hired mercenaries that guarded the advance of the rest of the army. They had expected attacks from enemy archers and javelin throwers along the way, but their march to the battlefield had met no resistance. The Athenians had chosen to concentrate their ranged defenses along the sides of their phalanxes. Each phalanx was a wide formation of soldiers several rows deep, protected by interlocking shields and bristling with spears, and two of them awaited the Spartans at the other side of the field.

She heard shouting from behind, and slowly the vanguard shifted around her as they began marching to the left, taking on more of a skirmisher role and clearing a path for the Spartan phalanxes to assemble in formation across from their Athenian counterparts.

Thus the Battle of Megaris began with a staredown between two armies.

Beside her, a young helot wearing a worn tunic and a helmet at least two sizes too big for him shifted his weight nervously from foot to foot. She clapped a hand down on his shoulder and said, "When the fighting starts, never stop moving."

He nodded at her with wide eyes, and Kassandra wondered how a small support force of lightly armed farmers and slaves could accomplish much of anything against a full phalanx.

Then a hush settled over the Spartan side, as if they'd all taken one collective breath, and then there was a shout that drove everyone into a headlong charge, the skirmishers and phalanxes moving together in one continuous line, like a great wave headed for shore. The nervous energy was gone in an instant, everyone a part of a single purposeful unit as they charged across the battlefield, and the feeling of focus and unity lasted just as long for the skirmishers to come within range of the Athenian archers, for as soon as the first of them began to be felled by arrows and javelins, their advance wavered while the Spartan phalanxes continued on, their shields protecting them from the dangers overhead.

The man in front of her stumbled and fell, skewered by a javelin through his chest, and she reached down and grabbed his shield without missing a step, holding it up before her so she could duck under it as she ran. She'd somehow ended up near the front of the supporting charge, and she could see the Spartans up ahead on a collision course for the Athenian lines.

Arrows bounced off her shield as she charged forward, and she heard a roar as the Spartans slammed into the Athenians, their advance coming to a sudden stop. She thought she heard a familiar voice within the fray, shouting, "Push forward, men! _Push!_" The phalanxes would remain locked in a stalemate until one of the front lines broke. The men who didn't break would be the victors.

Up ahead was the Athenian skirmisher line, positioned to defend the vulnerable side of the enemy phalanx. She drew her sword and picked out an enemy hoplite, just as the point of a javelin suddenly burst through the wooden core of her shield, pelting her with splinters. She flung the shield and javelin into the hoplite's face and stabbed him with her sword in one smooth motion. Then she drew her broken spear with her free hand and descended into a maelstrom of chaos.

It was quickly apparent to Kassandra that in a battle like this, there was no time for fancy moves or blocking defense. If it wasn't a slice or a parry, it was too slow, and slow meant danger lurking from all sides.

Kassandra cut her way through the front ranks of Athenian skirmishers with ease, aided by her unconventional use of a sword and what was essentially a long dagger against men armed with swords alone. But then she reached a squad of hoplites armed with swords _and_ shields, and her progress ground to a halt.

How in Hades was she going to break through _that_ many shields before their swords hacked her to bits?

She slid her spear into its sheath on her back and focused on attacking with her sword, and soon found that a heavy sword strike to a shield could knock an enemy backward — but more often than not, that just meant another interchangeable hoplite would take his place. There were far too many of them for her to remain locked in a defensive battle, and if she didn't come up with a plan in the next few moments she'd find herself surrounded by a wall of shields and sharp swords that she'd never come out from alive.

As the hoplites began to close in, she fended off the nearest one's attacks while studying the edges of his shield, and when the idea came to her she almost laughed at the simplicity of it, and its absurd amount of risk. In one sudden motion, she stepped right inside his sword range, reached across her body with her left hand, and grabbed the rightmost edge of his shield before yanking it back across her body with everything she had. As soon as she felt him lose his grip on the shield, she pulled it free and slammed it back into his chest, knocking him backwards so hard that he took out the man behind him as well.

The other hoplites hesitated. That just made it easier for her to pull off the same move a second time, rushing up to the next man, yanking his shield free and launching it at his head. The impact knocked him out instantly.

She swapped her sword for her spear and began to laugh, as a sense of unstoppable power flowed up from within, insulating her from the chaos as everything moved just a step slower than she could. Parry, shield break, thrust spear into the side of a throat. Parry, shield break, sink spear deep into a belly. She was close to the Athenian phalanx now, and could see the two front lines locked in combat.

Somewhere within that scrum was the Wolf, and she intended for him to witness the tide of this battle turn at _her_ command.

As she carved a path straight for the vulnerable side of the Athenian phalanx, she heard the howling war cries of friendly fighters as they fell in behind her. She was the order in the chaos, and when she reached the first row of Athenian spears, she used a stolen shield to knock the spearpoints aside before plunging into their ranks. Up ahead was an Athenian captain, easily identified by the colorful crest on his helmet, and she knew that if she cut down all their captains it would be like cutting the head off a snake.

The Athenian phalanx was beginning to lose its cohesion, and its men began to flee once they realized they were within a Spartan pincer grip on two sides. Kassandra sought out the first captain, let him come to her, then dodged the lunging attack of his spear. As soon as it passed, she slid inside and shoved her spear through his ribs and into his heart.

The second captain still had his shield, and her new trick worked just as well on him as it had with all the others. But as he staggered from being struck by his own shield, he slammed the shaft of his spear down hard on her armored shoulder and her left arm suddenly went numb from neck to wrist. He went for his sword, but she was already there to meet him with a looping slice of her spear that separated the fingers from his hand and the entrails from his belly.

Her body sang for more. Her blood thrummed with power and craving and a vast _want_ that grew with every breath. She shook the numbness out of her arm and looked out over the battlefield, seeing nothing but targets.

The final captain was a massive brute of a man, armed with a heavy axe and accompanied by three hoplite escorts, who immediately charged at her approach. She reared back and kicked the first man into the second, then parried a sword strike from the third before rolling to dodge what would have been a crushing blow from the captain's axe.

She glanced around, saw the first man unconscious, the second staggering back to his feet, the third circling to her left, and the captain moving to her right. The scene began to play out before her like a prophecy. She somehow knew the captain would swing his axe around in a wide circle, so she launched herself into a sliding tackle that let the axe pass harmlessly overhead and ended with her taking the second man's legs out from under him. They collapsed in a tangle of limbs, yet she never stopped moving, and she stuck her spear in his throat, in and out, before she rolled back to her feet. The third man was on the verge of panic, his sword moving erratically with his frantic swings, but she somehow knew which way his blade would go — and that the captain was readying another attack of his own. She maneuvered the third man around with a combination of parries and swipes from her spear, causing him to backpedal, until her final swing put him into the path of the captain's incoming axe. The blow nearly cut him in half.

The captain bellowed with rage. "Mercenary scum! You'll die now!"

She wouldn't, of course. Not when she could leap out of the way of his axe, and circle back around to his blind spot, and sink her spear deep into his back as he let out a ghastly roar of frustration. It took five stabs for him to die, and when he finally toppled over, all the remaining Athenians fled the field.

Kassandra watched them run, then slowly turned towards the Spartan forces, knowing every eye was upon her. But there was only one set of eyes she cared about in this moment, and they belonged to the Wolf, who watched her in silence from what had been the front line of the phalanx. She matched his gaze moment for moment as she reached back and sheathed her spear. Then the Wolf gave her a nod of acknowledgement and turned away.

It was time for the Spartans to gather the dead, but that wasn't her job. She'd won a far more important prize, and very soon it would be time for her to collect.

.oOo.

The Wolf wanted to see Kassandra and Kassandra alone. She had to admit a certain amount of satisfaction at the discomfort this caused Stentor. Was the poor boy jealous? Too damn bad.

It was also satisfying to see a Spartan honor guard lined up along the path to the top of the cliff where the Wolf awaited, even if it was bound to make her escape more difficult if her visit with him went the way she thought it would. And the Wolf's choice of venue couldn't have been more appropriate.

Once she reached the pinnacle, she saw him standing near the cliff's edge with his back towards her, looking at the sea.

Her feet stopped moving, rooted by the memories that suddenly shuddered through her. Her mother's desperate cries. Alexios disappearing over the edge. And how it felt to fall and fall. She closed her eyes and thought of snow on Mount Taygetos, and she wrapped herself in that cold until the shuddering stopped. It was time. She took off her helm and set it down next to the path. There was no longer a need to hide her face, and when the Wolf turned around to meet her, the way his eyes widened told her she'd become a ghost made flesh.

"Hello, father. It's been a long time." How odd it was to stand with their eyes at the same level when he had always loomed over her in her memories.

"Impossible. I saw you fall."

_Fall?_ "I didn't fall. You fucking threw me to my death."

"I did what was required of me as a Spartan."

He would have allowed the priests to throw his own son off a cliff. And after her disastrous attempt to save her baby brother had seen both her brother and the Elder priest fall to their deaths, he tried to execute _her_ by his own hand. She never expected Nikolaos to say anything else, or do anything other than hide behind duty like it would absolve all sins. He was her father. She hated that fact almost as much as she hated him and his duty to Sparta. Rage crept into her heart, burning the way cold iron could burn.

Nikolaos must have sensed it within her. "I can't change the past, Kassandra," he said, with the wounded dignity of a man who knew the Fates had caught up to him. "I will live and die a Spartan."

Then her hands were on him, her fingers curling around the straps of his armor, pushing him back, back to the edge so that his upper body hung over the precipice.

So close. She was so close to flinging him off the top of the cliff. It would be fitting for him to fall long enough to be aware of what was happening, to know that death was moments away and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He wouldn't even have a pile of rotting corpses to cushion _his_ landing.

It would be so easy: a push, her fingers letting go, a man falling in space. If she would just open her fingers... If she would just—

Instead, she pulled him back from the brink and tossed him to the ground with a frustrated cry, turning away from him to face the hills and the battlefield and the sea far below.

"Though you deserve death, there is no honor in vengeance," she said, the words so bitter on her tongue that she wasn't sure she believed them. There wasn't much honor in killing for drachmae either. But _something_ had stayed her hand. Perhaps she wanted him to keep suffering, to keep facing the same ghosts she had for the past fifteen years. There was no peace to be made here.

Nikolaos lay in a heap at her feet. "I have failed in my duty. I failed to protect you — to protect both of you," he said, a broken man confessing to his gods, and Kassandra knew his words weren't meant for her. But then he pulled himself up on his knees and said, "I loved you and your brother as if you were truly my own. But you were never mine."

The very air seemed to close in around her as she realized what he meant. It wasn't possible. Her ears no longer heard sounds, her skin no longer felt the breeze, and her vision narrowed to the deep lines on his face and the haunted look in his eyes.

Her first memory: running barefoot at home with uneven toddler steps, a stick held fast in her fist, poking him in the knee as she shrieked her fiercest battlecry. Strong arms lifting her up. His chest rumbling with laughter. "Look, Myrrine — Great Lycurgus has sent us a hero!"

Nikolaos was a flawed man, but he was no liar. If he said something, he believed it to be the truth.

"Find your mother," he said.

How many revelations must she bear? Her blood began to roar in her ears like waves in a storm. "Find her?" she heard herself say, but she was already unmoored, roiling in rough seas with nothing but deep water beneath her.

"Wherever Myrrine is, she knows far more than I do," he said, before he turned and walked away in search of the honor he'd lost when he put his duty to Sparta before the family he'd sworn to protect. Kassandra let him go, too dazed to argue or do much of anything other than stand there in stunned silence. "Beware the snakes in the grass, Kassandra," he said in warning, and then he disappeared into the forest that shrouded the top of the mountain above them, a wolf slipping back into shadows.

He'd left her with so much to think about that nothing came to mind. The foundations of her history had shifted, tilting everything built upon them. She was not who she thought she was.

She picked up Nikolaos's helm and sword from where he'd discarded them in the dirt, staring at them without seeing, and when the first of the Spartan guardsmen arrived at the top of the cliff, that is how they found her.

The shouts were loud and immediate: "The General's gone!" and "She's killed the Wolf!" and it wasn't true but it was Nikolaos's parting gift, for Sparta would surely blame her for his sudden disappearance.

The time for thinking was later. The time for leaving was now. She quickly pulled his helm onto her head and drew her own sword, and now she had two swords and the means to chop through the spear shafts the guardsmen had crossed to block her way. Beyond the first two guards was the curving path down the mountain with a sheer rock wall to her right and a steep drop-off to her left, and the gauntlet of soldiers she'd have to run if she wanted to escape.

All the guardsmen were without their shields, as no one had really expected to find themselves in battle during this time of celebration, but they all had spears, and if Kassandra wasn't careful she'd find herself impaled on the end of one.

She spun her swords around and dared them to come get her, and as soon as one attacked, she hacked his spear in two at the shaft. Dodging and chopping, she cut a path through the thicket of spearpoints, always pressing forward, always moving, before someone got the bright idea of trying to clobber her with a spear shaft.

Halfway down the path, she looked ahead and saw a squad of fully-armed Spartans assembling at the bottom. Together, they'd link their shields like a turtle's shell, and once they started marching up the path, she'd be boxed in from the front and the rear.

The rock face to her right was far too steep to climb, so she chose the least worst option and jumped right off the side of the path and down the steep hillside, somehow managing to keep her feet in front of her as she slid through the underbrush, branches bouncing off her armor and tearing at her skin. The bottom was a long way away.

A fallen pine tree lay snagged against another tree just ahead, leaving a worryingly small gap between the bulk of its trunk and the ground. With her momentum too great to stop or even change course, all she could do was lean back into the slide and hope she could squeeze through. She did, barely, bark scraping, pine needles showering upon her, almost losing the Wolf's helm and his sword along the way, but her right wrist smacked against an underhanging branch and she lost her grip on her old sword. Ares's mark had served her well, and it would be her offering to Pan, then, in exchange for escaping this wild mountainside.

Finally the slope began to level out and she went from sliding to running, chased by the echoes of shouts from far above. She flew out of the forest underbrush at a full run. If she could just get to the port before the Spartans sent soldiers after her on horseback...

She'd never beat a priestess of Artemis in a footrace, but her detour down the mountainside had given her a jump on her pursuers. She heard the first hoofbeats of mounted calvary as the port of Pagai came within view, along with the welcoming sight of the Adrestia's mast and stays. She could only hope that Barnabas had done what she'd asked and prepared the ship for departure at a moment's notice.

As soon as her feet touched the dock, she shouted, "Barnabas! Undock the ship!"

Barnabas's blessed voice rang out across the yard. "Aye, Captain! Untie the lines, and make it quick, lads!" She could see the crew scurrying across the Adrestia's deck, following orders.

She hurdled a line of enormous clay pots and dodged between slaves carrying bolts of linen, and when the Spartan dockmaster stepped into her path of travel with his hand raised and a "Halt, misthios!" she didn't even break stride as she shoved him aside and into a rack of drying fish. The Adrestia was pulling away from the dock.

The crew had already drawn in the gangplank and the gap between the side of the ship and the pier was growing wider by the moment. She felt a punch between her shoulder blades where something struck her armor, and a clay pot in a pile next to her head suddenly shattered. Archers somewhere behind her. She bared her teeth in a wolf's grin and gathered all the strength and speed she had as the edge of the dock came closer with every step. Three steps, two steps, one, and then her legs were pushing against the edge and she was flying, arms reaching for the Adrestia, her body losing height as the ship came closer...

Her hand hit the rail and scrabbled for purchase against the slick wood, but there was no grip to be found and she felt herself sliding, sliding— until Barnabas grabbed her arm with one strong hand and her armor with his other, and pulled her onto the deck.

"Great Demeter's ghost! You look like you picked a fight with a forest and lost, Captain."

She stood there looking at him and took deep, burning breaths until the war drum in her chest ceased pounding. "Thanks," she said once she could speak again, and then she began to laugh as leaves and pine needles fell from her hair and armor, and her skin began to sting from scrapes and cuts, and she laughed from a place without humor, until it felt like she was choking and tears began to well in her eyes.

Barnabas looked at her with alarm and pulled her closer to him, tucking her face into his shoulder. "Kassandra, what is it? What's wrong?" he asked.

She didn't know.


	5. Interlude: Barnabas

Evening on the Adrestia: lanterns pushing back the darkness, ink-black waters shimmering with reflections, waves lapping gently against wood. Most of the crew had gone to port. The few that remained sat on the foredeck with their legs dangling off the sides of the ship, bickering and telling jokes as they mended their clothes and gear. The wineskin that passed between them never seemed to stop.

Kassandra could hear them from the stern of the ship, where she lounged on the deck with her back resting against the chest where she kept her gear. She had a bowl of good wine in one hand while she watched Barnabas pace to and fro in front of her. On a typical evening, she'd be in port too, drinking at a kapeleion, arm wrestling drachmae out of overconfident men, maybe even finding a beautiful woman's bed to call home for the night. But on this evening, here she was, watching Barnabas talk to himself while she tried very hard not to scratch at the scabs from the scrapes that covered her arms and legs after her escape from Megaris. That ordeal had left her exhausted and in a pensive mood she hadn't found her way out of yet.

She needed the rest, and the wine wasn't hurting, either. And really, what could Barnabas possibly be doing?

He paced along the stern's railing, moving his lips but making no sounds. Every once in a while he gestured with his arms. Was he praying? She didn't think so. If he prayed, he'd do it properly, at a shrine with an offering in hand.

So not a prayer, but a conversation, perhaps?

Once her curiosity finally bested her, she spoke up. "Barnabas, who are you talking to?"

He froze before slowly turning around, and she felt a bit guilty for interrupting him. "Ahh... Everyone, Captain!" he said. "The gods. The sea. My family. Even... sometimes..." His eyes looked down at the deck.

"Me?" she suggested.

Was he blushing? She couldn't tell in this light.

"Aye. But usually when you're not around..." He scratched the back of his neck.

She offered him the bowl of wine, and he crossed the deck and took it, sipping tentatively. She made a _drink more_ motion. He was never more excited than when he talked about the gods, and, ever the optimist, he always tried to make the best of every situation. She could use a little of that right now.

"Barnabas, will you tell me a story?"

He seemed surprised. "I have many stories. Is there one you wanted to hear?"

"One that you enjoy telling."

He handed her the bowl of wine and cleared his throat. "I first heard this story when I was a boy, on the Silver Islands..." he said, and Kassandra settled back to listen as he began his tale of Zeus and Leto, a daughter of Titans.

Now Leto was a lady of great modesty, always hiding her face behind a veil of white linen. No one really knew if she was beautiful or not, but there were always rumors, you see, and one day Zeus heard them while he was wandering the earth in disguise as he often did.

Zeus wanted to see Leto's mysterious face for himself, so he waited until he saw her alone in her garden, and then he bid the wind god Zephyros to summon a sudden gale, like a storm in springtime. The gale took hold of Leto's veil in its unseen hands and lifted it away, revealing her face to be one of regal beauty. The sight of it made Zeus fall in love.

He decided he would have her, and he pursued her in his wily way until they finally lay together. Poor Leto, who had no idea that Zeus was already betrothed to Hera, the most vengeful of goddesses. Poor Leto, who was abandoned by Zeus as quickly as he had fallen in love. Poor Leto, who now carried Zeus's child, and was cast out from her home for fear of Hera's wrath.

Wherever Leto roamed, no one would help her. All doors were closed to her, and all lands too, as Hera decreed that Leto would never give birth on terra firma.

For months Leto searched for a place outside Hera's reach, a seemingly impossible task, and finally she took to the sea in despair. She wandered from island to island, and none would allow her ship safe harbor. By now she was so swollen with child that surely she would bear twins, if she could ever find a place to do so safely.

But not all was lost. There were gods who looked upon Leto with sympathy, and great Poseidon was one of them. He gently nudged Leto's ship with his waves until she came across a tiny barren rock that seemed to float on the sea. The rock was called Delos when someone remembered it, which was not often. But when Leto begged for help, the little island of Delos opened its arms in welcome, and as soon as she set foot upon its rocky shore, Zeus himself reached down and anchored the island to the earth far below with four immense pillars of the whitest marble.

Leto may have found a place to give birth, but Hera was not done with her meddling ways, for she kidnapped Eleuthia, the goddess of childbirth. This would doom Leto to futile labor until mother and babies perished.

The other gods had seen enough. They came together, Poseidon bringing pearls, others carrying gold and other precious stones, and they used the treasures to craft a wondrous necklace more beautiful than any other. They tempted Hera with the necklace, and when she was desperate to have it, they told her it would be hers only if she let Eleuthia go.

Hera finally relented, and Leto soon gave birth to the twin gods Artemis and Apollo. The island of Delos became Apollo's favorite, and it grew lush and fertile and wealthy from his influence, and was known as the heavenly isle from then on.

"The gods are cruel," Kassandra said.

Barnabas brought his hands together in a loud clap. "Yes!" he said. "But as cruel as they are, they can also be kind. And this is the way of mortals also, for we too were made by the hands of the gods."

Perhaps he was right. He certainly believed it, and with the lanterns lit behind him he seemed to glow with the strength of his faith. Or maybe that was the wine talking. Where Barnabas kept up a running conversation with the gods, Kassandra had only heard silence. It was probably better that way, for the attention of the gods only seemed to cause trouble.

"I'm sorry if my story wasn't entertaining," he said, speaking to her silence.

She realized she'd been frowning from within her thoughts. "What? No!" she said, clambering to her feet and putting her hand on his shoulder. "_I'm_ sorry. I liked your story very much." She smiled and guided him to the railing where they could both look out at the stars above the sea. "You just gave me a lot to think about."

"You've been doing that a great deal lately. Thinking."

She nodded and leaned against the rail. "You know, all I wanted was to leave Kephallonia. Now I have a mother and a father to find, and far more questions than answers."

"The gods have plans for you, Kassandra."

She blew out her breath and shook her head.

"You don't believe it, but it's true. You have the blood of kings—"

"And I'm exiled from Sparta."

He put his hand on her forearm. "Most mortals don't survive a fall like you did as a child. And in battle, you have the same gifts the gods give their heroes. Surely you know this?"

Of course she did. "I just want to know why, and what for."

"Keep living your life and you'll find out."

She grinned. "Are you telling me to quit brooding?"

"I'd never _tell_ the mighty Kassandra to do anything. But I might suggest..."

That made her laugh, and she held her hands out in surrender. "Fine, fine, I'll pull my head out of my ass."

"Ha!" he crowed in triumph, looking very pleased with himself.

"Now _I'm_ going to suggest we refill that bowl of wine," she said, nodding at the wineskin that lay on the bench beside them. "And you can remind me why Delos belongs to Apollo and not Artemis."

Barnabas smiled and reached for the wine. "Gladly, Captain."


	6. Three Hunts in the Shadow of Delphi

The ship lay broken against the rocks, the cracked shell of its hull exposed to the surf while its tangled rigging and torn sails flapped in the breeze. There were people climbing all over the wreckage, tossing bags and boxes onto the wet sand below, and they froze and stared at Kassandra as they noticed her approach. Judging by the rough homespun fabric of their clothes, they were merely villagers from a nearby settlement taking advantage of the luck that had dropped a loaded ship into their laps.

At the tideline, a man stacked boxes onto a pile as a woman and a small boy scurried between him and the wreckage, their arms loaded with goods. The woman noticed Kassandra first, and she whistled a warning to the man, who whirled around to face this incoming stranger.

His eyes flicked from Kassandra's face, down her armor, and then to her weapons, and he looked over nervously at the woman who was probably his wife. She watched Kassandra warily and pulled the boy behind her.

Kassandra held her hands open. "I'm not here for trouble," she said. "I just want to know where the figurehead of this ship went."

His head jerked in the direction of the bay behind him. "Somewhere out there, along with the crew."

"Do you know what ship this is?"

"No idea. They blew in here in a hurry and ran aground in the shallows. Most of it's out in the bay except for the stern here. But if it's treasure you're after, you're too late. Those soldiers dragged it all up to their camp." He looked up the hill behind Kassandra, where a fortified encampment of Athenian soldiers stood overlooking the water.

Kassandra wasn't here for treasure, though that would have been a bonus. She was looking for a particular ship, the Shark's Tooth. Its captain, Gelon, had asked Kassandra to find it along with her missing lover Gyke, Gelon's second-in-command. And once Kassandra found both ship and Gyke, Captain Gelon would pay her in information more precious than jewels and drachmae.

"I need to get to that wreckage."

"You're mad if you think you're going to swim out there. You'll end up food for the sharks like these poor bastards did."

The villagers had pulled their boats high onto the beach. She nodded at the nearest. "I'll give you coin if you let me borrow that felucca."

The man glanced at his wife, who gave him a quick nod. "All right, but you pay up front."

A short time later, Kassandra was knee-deep in the surf, pulling the felucca behind her into the shallows. The water was warm, and the white sand below gave it the color of a summer sky. On most days it would have been beautiful, but most days didn't involve a dismembered leg floating in the waves, or the sticky-sweet scent of blood in the salty mist.

She hopped up on the felucca's deck and poled the boat out to deeper water. Matted coils of rope, broken planks, and other debris bobbed gently on the waves, along with a growing number of human arms, legs, and torsos. Kassandra had seen blood and horror, but never anything like this: the sea like a butcher's soup. She fought down a queasy churn in her stomach as she guided the boat into the center of the floating patch of bodies. She couldn't see what lurked in the depths below. The water was too deep for the sun's light to reach the bottom.

It meant she'd have to go for a swim, against all reason and sense, for the Shark's Tooth and Captain Gelon were the only leads she had in finding Elpenor, the man who'd already tried to kill her once, and was bound to keep trying until he succeeded.

She gritted her teeth and reached for the first of the leather ties that secured her armor. It had to come off — breastplate, greaves, and bracers made of iron and bronze, all of it far too heavy to swim in. She stripped down to her underclothes, took a deep breath, and stepped off the side of the deck before she had a chance to think any second thoughts.

Thankfully, her tendency to sink like a stone in water quickly pulled her below the carnage floating at the surface. Shadowy forms too smooth to be rocks loomed in the darkness below, and she swam towards them as the pressure grew in her ears and the burn crept into her lungs. There: the unmistakable curve of a ship's bow. She rolled to her left and finned her free hand so she'd follow it around to the very fore of the ship. Her eyes began to adjust to the watery gloom, and then she saw it, a figurehead of a large shark, its mouth open in a toothy grin. This _was_ the wreckage of the Shark's Tooth after all.

A dark line of shadow snaked across the figurehead and the bow. Her heart beat faster. She looked up just in time to twist out of the way of the lunging maw of a real live shark. Her back slammed into the ship's keel, the barnacle-encrusted surface slicing into her skin. She let herself sink, following the bow's wooden curve down into the darkness. Her lungs were burning. _Fuck._

The shark swimming overhead was massive, dwarfing the one on the figurehead. She'd never outrace that monster to the surface, and there was fresh blood in the water now.

_Think, Kassandra._ She swam in the murk along the seabed, trailing a hand along the sand, looking for a sharp rock or a piece of wood, anything, when her fingers touched something cool and soft. She gave it a tug and her heart seized in her chest as the arm came free of the body it belonged to and she realized exactly what she was holding. And there, around its wrist, was a flash of gold and green stones. Could this be the bracelet Gelon had mentioned she'd given to Gyke? Apparently the second-in-command had gone down with the ship.

Kassandra was running out of air, and with it, time. She pulled the bracelet free and kicked upwards, saw the graceful, deadly glide of the shark overhead, let it pass by on its circular path, then kicked upwards again so she and the shark swam at roughly the same depth. It turned, spotted her, opened that great and terrifying array of teeth, and she somehow held her nerve as it swam closer and closer, and at the very last moment she surged out of its way and slammed her fist straight into its eye. Its entire body thrashed in surprise, creating a wave that pushed her away, and she kicked hard, fighting panic and a _right now_ desperation for air as her blood pounded behind her eyes.

She broke the surface, took one great breath of blessed air, and swam for the felucca floating several body lengths away. Then she was lifting herself onto the deck, and she lay there on her back for a very long time, gasping for breath. When the fire in her lungs finally subsided, she looked down, saw the reddish tint in the seawater drying on her skin as she remembered Gyke's arm in her grasp — and then she rolled over and vomited into the sea.

.oOo.

Gelon surprised Kassandra by taking the bad news like a Stoic would, uttering a quiet, lamented "Oh, my Gyke..." before she shook her head and set her hardened mask back into place. She shed no tears as Kassandra handed her Gyke's bracelet. Instead, she sighed wearily and said, "I suppose I'm not much of a captain," as she slid the bracelet around her wrist. "Can't be a captain without a ship."

"I can help tide you over," Kassandra said. "But give me the information you promised me first."

Gelon glanced around, then gestured for Kassandra to follow her further up the beach, away from any unfriendly ears. "You're looking for Elpenor, right?" she said.

"Yes."

"That fucker's a snake. But unlike most snakes he's got a lot of friends. That's why no one here will talk to you. They're all afraid." Gelon uncrossed her arms and pointed at herself. "Lucky for you, I don't give two shits about him or this place."

"You know where he's hiding?"

"Nope. But I know someone who might. Her name's Auxesia."

"Go on."

"Sex-crazy, she is. She's probably fucked half of Phokis, but imagine the pillow talk she's heard..."

Loose hips made loose lips. "Indeed," Kassandra said drily.

"She's not usually one to kiss and tell, but if you help her somehow, you might get her to talk."

"Help her somehow?"

Gelon looked Kassandra up and down pointedly. "You're fucking hot. I'm sure you can figure out how to work with that."

Kassandra rolled her eyes. "If I must."

"I'll introduce you to her."

"Good."

"I gotta warn you, though. She's like a hundred years old."

.oOo.

Auxesia wasn't exactly a hundred years old, but she _was_ old enough to be Kassandra's grandmother. It made for an amusingly awkward conversation where Kassandra got to hear all about an old woman's voracious sexual appetites while being openly ogled at the same time. It turned out Auxesia had plenty of drachmae and libido — and a husband who couldn't keep up. Might Kassandra help her find the ingredients she needed to make a potion to give him back his youthful stamina?

Kassandra never would have expected that finding a deer's tongue and a bear's scrotum would put her one step closer to finding Elpenor. The world moved in strange ways.

.oOo.

Kassandra sat high in the fork of a tree on the upper reaches of Mount Parnassos, where the stags had gathered to wage war amongst themselves for the best of the hinds. Their roaring calls echoed off the shoulders of the mountain, carried on an autumn breeze as crisp as frost on fallen leaves, and she could see them coming down the ridge line and up the river gulch individually and in contentious pairs, antlers already clashing, none of them the stag she wanted.

She leaned back against the tree trunk, the old oak's bark digging into the tender spots on her back she'd earned during her swim a few days ago. Her armor and sword were back on the Adrestia where she'd left them, prioritizing speed and silence over protection. And now, dressed as she was in just her chiton, armed with nothing else but her bow and broken spear, it was like she was back in Kephallonia, hunting deer to keep herself and Phoibe from starving.

But today she hunted no ordinary deer — only the oldest and most clever of the stags that lived in these mountains. The hunters in Delphi called him the Alpha, or First, and they said his antlers were as wide as a man's outstretched arms. No man would ever be able to track the Alpha Stag, they said, but Kassandra was no man, and she had something no other hunter did: her golden eagle Ikaros, who was just as adept at hunting big game as he was at hunting small.

Ikaros had led her here, and it was Ikaros she depended on now, as he flew somewhere above, his keen eyes searching for their quarry.

She sighed and idly drew her spear, studying the pitted metal surface of its blade while trying not to fidget. All this sitting around allowed her mind to wander back to places she'd rather it didn't go.

Just when she resigned herself to experiencing unwanted memories, she heard Ikaros's hunting call sound over the ridge. If that's where the Alpha Stag was, then she'd have to move to keep herself downwind of him as he approached. One breath of human scent and he'd flee, ending her chase in failure. She swung her leg over the branch and climbed down the trunk.

Her path cut an angle further up the mountain, and she shivered as the wind blew into her face. The chill didn't last long as she climbed up the steep hillside, the long muscles in her legs warming up after sitting still for so long. Ikaros called again, closer this time. The king was on his way.

He was far too canny to stand in silhouette against the treeless ridgeline, instead choosing to pass through a small copse of dwarf pines that clung to the ridge, their gnarled trunks twisted from years of battering by bitter winds. She knelt behind the trunk of a grand old oak and readied her bow with an arrow nocked. From here she had a clear view of the pines. The snap and clatter of breaking branches told her something big was approaching.

Kassandra's breath caught when the Alpha Stag finally emerged into open ground. He was easily the largest deer she had ever seen, his antlers spreading into a regal fan of points above his head. A crown worthy of his majesty.

Her bow hand did not move. The idea of killing this beautiful animal gave her no pleasure, nor did the possibility of inadvertently raising the ire of Artemis herself, whose punishments were swift and cruel. She had hunted before, when the stakes were kill or go hungry, and not a single scrap of those animals had gone to waste. But what now, when the priestesses in the Temple of Artemis had promised her a bear's scrotum in exchange for the antlers of the Alpha Stag...

Elpenor was out there somewhere, waiting for another chance to orchestrate an attempt on her life. It was kill or be killed. She raised her bow and lined up the shot, aiming just behind the crease of his shoulder where his heart beat and his lungs drew breath.

_Forgive me_, she thought, and let the arrow fly.

.oOo.

The priestesses of Artemis had accepted her offering of the Alpha Stag's antlers along with as much usable meat as she could carry. Bringing it all down from the mountain had been an arduous and bloody ordeal, but after everything was said and done, she had the ingredients she needed for Auxesia's potion.

Auxesia's husband Koragos was not particularly happy to see Kassandra when she arrived at their home, and he figured out the purpose of her visit the moment she handed the fetid-smelling package of ingredients to his wife.

"Oh no! We've already discussed this, Auxesia!" he said, backing away slowly. "I can't satisfy you anymore. You're going to kill me with your lust."

"Nonsense. I'm going to make you an elixir that will give you the vigor of a man a fraction of your age."

Koragos's voice pitched higher in desperation. "Gods save me. I can't do this anymore."

Kassandra held up a hand. "Enough," she said. She turned to Auxesia. "Your husband doesn't want this, and I'll not be a party to forcing him."

He looked at her with gratitude while Auxesia began to protest, "But—"

Kassandra cut her off. "No more potions. _I'll_ satisfy your hunger instead." While taking Auxesia to bed was not something she would have considered in normal circumstances, what harm could there be? Maybe an older lover would teach her a thing or two — or several.

Auxesia recovered quickly from her surprise. "Very well, let's see what you're made of, misthios." She took Kassandra by the hand and led her inside the house, to a chamber lit by oil lamps with their wicks trimmed low. Even in the dim light Kassandra could see that the bed was richly dressed in silk and linen, and that the furnishings in the room were simple and elegant. A table holding jugs of water and wine stood next to the bed, along with a large basin of water. This room was clearly a place where Auxesia enjoyed spending her time.

And Auxesia was a gracious host, offering Kassandra a cup of wine while she removed her bow and her swordbelt and began to work on the ties that fastened her armor. She surprised herself by declining the drink. Her heartbeat had sped up and her neck and shoulders were suddenly stiff with tension. She had no idea how this was going to play out.

However, once Auxesia's clothes came off, it was apparent that though her hair had gone to grey and her skin held more wrinkles, she was still a woman, with the same parts and hidden mysteries as all the other women Kassandra had ever slept with before. Kassandra smiled at her misplaced apprehension.

"Something funny, misthios?"

"Just the foolishness of youth."

"Youth I'd like to see revealed. Now hurry!"

Kassandra slipped out of her chiton and underclothes and stood by the bed in full glory.

Auxesia took her in, smiling in delight. "Well, aren't you magnificent!"

It was always nice to be appreciated, and once their bodies met, age ceased to matter all that much. Auxesia was surprisingly strong and limber, and any worries Kassandra had about needing to be gentle were quickly dispelled.

Auxesia knew exactly what she wanted and exactly how to tell Kassandra to give it to her. Fingers, tongue, thigh, palm of hand: Kassandra used them all and more, as Auxesia came and came and Kassandra's own pleasure grew, in the giving and in the forgetting of the past and the future. There was no grand meaning to be found here, just two women sharing a moment, or in this case, a great many moments as the sun set and the night spun its wheel overhead and the dawn broke through and turned into day.

How long could they go before someone got tired — that became their game, and Kassandra was well served by her peerless stamina. All that running and sword swinging was paying off.

Finally, finally, Auxesia threw herself back against the pillows of her bed, saying, "By the gods, I'm done! No more."

"Are you sure?" Kassandra teased, drawing out her words as she slipped her hand between sweat-slicked thighs.

"Yes! No! Stop!" Auxesia said between gasps. "Now I know how it is to be ravished by a god."

Kassandra laughed, low and rich with satisfaction.

A short while later, Kassandra was mostly dressed as they shared a cup of wine between them, Kassandra sitting on the edge of the bed as Auxesia lounged languidly within her silks.

"I doubt you're in Delphi to pleasure old women in need, misthios. Tell me why you're really here."

"Have you heard of a man named Elpenor?"

Auxesia narrowed her eyes and set the cup down on the table. "That's a dangerous name."

"I'm a dangerous person."

"A lover _and_ a fighter," Auxesia mused. She studied Kassandra, considering how much she would say, and then she mentioned a handful of places where a snake might make a hidden lair, if one were looking for such a thing.

Auxesia had given Kassandra exactly what she needed.

.oOo.

One by one, Kassandra crossed locations off of Auxesia's list, scouting caves and tombs and villas across Phokis. To her frustration, it appeared that Elpenor had hidden himself in plain sight all along, in one of the many ruined temples within the Valley of the Snake. The damned thing even had an enormous skeleton of a snake wrapped around it.

For most of a day she'd watched the comings and goings of the guards and servants from a hidden crevice in the cliffs that stood above the ruins. From their movements, it was obvious that there was someone of wealth living in the caves under the temple; she could see it in the number of guards posted at the perimeter and in the goods the servants delivered throughout the day: amphorae of Athenian wine, baskets of fruit and other delicacies. The master they served had expensive tastes, and Elpenor seemed the kind of man who expected luxury to follow him wherever he went.

She waited long past sunset, until the servants were sent home and only guards remained. At least she'd be helped by a moonless night.

The cornice she crouched upon was a perfect place to spy upon the ruins, made even more so by the long, thin crack that ran alongside it down the face of the cliff. She stuck her left hand inside the crack, twisted it until her fist jammed into a solid hold, then swung her feet off into space. For a few dizzying moments her life dangled by a single handhold, until her toes found solid footing against the stone below. Then she jammed her right hand inside the crack at a point just above her waistline, and began the long climb down.

By the time her sandals sank into the grass at the foot of the cliff, she was sweating lightly, and as she ducked out of sight between two boulders, a frisson of anticipation slid up her spine. The nearest guard, like all the others, stood with his sightlines facing out towards the river and the road. They'd forgotten that danger could come from within.

She pulled a length of black linen out from under her armor and looped it into a hood that shrouded her hair and face. She drew her broken spear. Then she moved like a gust of wind, enveloping the guard from behind and wrapping an arm around his chest, the blade of her spear resting against his throat.

"Leave here and take the others with you if you value your life," she said.

He apparently didn't, for he took a deep breath and tried to shout a warning instead. She cut his throat and let his air wheeze quietly into the night. These were no ordinary hired thugs, loyal only to themselves and fleeing at the first opportunity.

She quietly lowered the guard's body to the ground while her heartbeat surged and her body wrapped itself in a familiar warmth. Her spear hummed in her hand. She spotted four more guards at watch along the edges of the ruins, and one at the entrance to the cave. She'd have to be quick to get them all before they noticed their numbers dwindling.

The temple ruins were a perfect hunting ground. She flowed between dark places shadowed by crumbling marble columns and the twisted skeleton that arched above, and came upon each guard in turn, her spear flashing, leaving silence and blood soaking into the earth as she passed. No one would sound an alarm.

Only two men were left: a sentry walking a line between the temple and the path to the cave entrance, and a guard at the entrance itself.

The sentry's torch blazed in the darkness, and she approached him at an angle, careful not to throw any shadows from the lights behind her. Her spear cut a silver line into the night, and he died silently like the rest, his body folding to the ground as she eased him down. Then she picked up his fallen torch and walked boldly up the path to the entrance of the cave where the final guard waited.

"Hey! Wh—"

She hurled her torch at him and rushed him at a full run, and in the margins of his distraction she ran him through with her spear as if he weren't wearing armor at all. The Spear of Leonidas seemed to be growing ever more powerful, its keen edge now punching through armor that would turn aside nearly any other blade. Even now it seemed to pulse in her hand.

She turned and faced the mouth of the cave, pulling her shroud off her head as she stepped inside. Elpenor would know who killed him.

The upper tunnel was barely wider than the span of her arms, but it was well lit with candles and oil lamps. She could see its lower section opening up into a larger chamber.

She found Elpenor seated at a writing desk in the chamber's center. He did not seem surprised to see her.

"What a shame," he said, eyeing the spear in her hand. "We would have made you rich." His left hand curled around something in his lap.

She let him throw the blade, tilting her head at the last moment to let it fly past. "I'm going to enjoy killing you," she said.

He leapt to his feet and drew a short dagger from his belt. Instinct told her his blade was poisoned. It left no room for mistakes, and when she struck, her hands could not waver. A thread of memory loosened within her, and she heard her mother's voice. _Hesitation hastens the grave..._

The tight quarters of the chamber only added to the danger, and she backpedaled, trying to draw him out. She watched his hips and kept her spear at the ready, and when he shifted his weight to his back leg, she let him strike, neatly sidestepping his blade while grabbing his knife arm and twisting it upwards. She slammed her spear deep into his side, just under his ribcage, and then she stabbed him a second time for good measure.

His legs turned to water and he sank to the ground. She followed him down, keeping a tight grip on his arm, then slammed his knife hand into the rocky floor until he let go of the blade. A flick of her spear sent it skittering out of reach.

The pool of blood under him grew as he bled out, and he clutched uselessly at his side. "Killing me is a mistake."

"Trusting you was a mistake."

He smiled, showing bloody teeth. "I was the reason you left Kephallonia alive. The Cult wanted you dead."

"What Cult? Where are they?"

She'd get no answer from a dead man. She examined his body anyway, looking for something she might have missed. There, on the ground underneath his waist, was a sliver of a golden... _something_ that had fallen from his belt. Out of curiosity, she poked at it with the point of the Spear of Leonidas, but the moment the spear touched the object's surface, it began to thrum with even more force than it had before, almost as if it were angry. She jerked the spear away reflexively, then reached down and picked up the object with her free hand, wiping Elpenor's blood off on his own robe.

The object was the size of her palm, triangular in shape, and about as thick as a knife blade. It gleamed gold in the lamplight, but was far too lightweight to be real gold, or even bronze. It was unlike anything she'd ever seen, and she realized that it hummed in her fingers the same way her spear did when she held it, like a whispered promise of power.

She tucked it into a pouch on her waistbelt and turned her attention to the rest of the chamber. The scrolls she found amidst the opulent rugs and furnishings detailed routine business deals from Phokis to Krete. Elpenor was certainly well connected, but that was hardly unusual for a merchant during times of war.

Kassandra drifted over to his desk. In an alcove, she found a dark set of robes and a white mask that could have come from any play in any theater from here to Athens. Elpenor _had_ mentioned a love of theater, but there was something about the mask that put her on edge, and she decided to hang on to it and the robes while she figured out where they came from later. The rest of the scrolls in the alcoves were much like the others elsewhere in the chamber, listing ship manifests and accounts due and other transactions, but then she began to sift through the scrolls on top of the desk, and found a scrap of papyrus addressed to no one, written in a neat but delicate hand.

_The situation is under control._  
_Kassandra will be dead soon, and Deimos will find her mother._  
_The Eyes see all._  
_—E_

She crumpled the letter in her fist. Every answer she found only seemed to create more questions. She was certain of only two things: that her mother was in danger, and that Elpenor was part of a much larger conspiracy that plotted against her and her family.

It was time to pay a visit to the Oracle of Delphi.


	7. Through the Eyes of Others

**The False Seer**

The Pythia of Delphi was unsettled, and she paced around her chambers, unable to sit or rest after her encounter with the strange visitor who'd arrived in her temple along with the shadows of twilight. Unlike the usual litany of merchants, politicians, and generals who came to see her, this petitioner had been a woman of unnerving stature, fully armed and armored as if she'd come straight from Themiscyra — though it wasn't the woman's weapons that had shaken the Pythia, but the sight of her face.

The woman was the Child on the Mountain. The Pythia was certain of it, for the Artifact under the Temple of Apollo had shown her that face in vision after vision. She'd seen a young girl flung from Mount Taygetos and survive the fall, then watched her grow into a woman in the years after that. The Cult had taken a particular interest in these visions, demanding that the Pythia inform them whenever one occurred. She knew they searched for the Child on the Mountain with murderous intent.

Those targeted by the Cult never lived for long, so how had the woman made it to Delphi alive?

The Pythia was suddenly grateful for the guards that watched her every move. She could hear their footsteps circling the gravel paths around her home, a sound that had grown as familiar to her as the chimes in the temple and the birdsong in the olive groves nearby. They'd even sent a misthios to watch over her despite her strenuous objections. He kept a bear as a pet! In her fucking atrium!

She poured herself a cup of sweet wine and drank deep. To almost every Greek, she was the most powerful person alive, able to shape the world in the image of her divine pronouncements. She was wealthy beyond belief, and had surrounded herself with opulent furnishings, art, and rugs. She wore the finest clothes and the prettiest jewels. She'd even been able to invest in a few side ventures of her own that brought her ever more petitioners — along with their generous offerings. Wealth and power were hers, and a visit from some woman play-acting as a warrior should have brought her no concern.

The Pythia needed another drink. She refilled her cup and set the jug of wine back on the table. But in that moment's pause, she heard nothing but silence where there should have been footsteps. Her stomach knotted. She put the cup down, took a step towards the door to her chambers, and—

The doors slammed open as if they'd been kicked, and in the doorway stood the Child on the Mountain herself, as huge and terrifying as one of the death spirits of Nix.

"Guards!" The Pythia heard her own voice go shrill as she realized that if the woman was here at her doorstep, there was no one left who could help her now.

The woman walked towards her. "I'm not here to hurt you, I just want answers," she said, holding her open hands out in a gesture of peace that only made the Pythia shudder. The woman towered over her, and everything about her seemed larger than life: her hands, the muscles on her arms, her broad shoulders. She could have slipped into any tale of the gods and not been out of place.

Even so, her violation of the Pythia's private chambers was an outrage. "The Pythia is a sacred vessel of the gods. People travel the world for my answers. But none of them would dare break into my home. Apollo's wrath will be cruel and swift."

The woman's eyes narrowed. "Enough with your lies! You will tell me what I want to know."

Suddenly, one of those larger-than-life hands was wrapped around the Pythia's throat, and it began squeezing the air out of her. "I can't... brea—" she wheezed as she clawed at the woman's bracered forearm, her fingers bruising against metal. She felt herself being pulled upwards, close enough to see the burnished bronze of the woman's eyes staring at her in anger. Dark smears began to swirl in the corners of the Pythia's vision, closing in upon her...

"If you lie to me, I'll cut your throat."

Then the woman's grip loosened and the Pythia sucked in a great gasp of air. Her whole body went numb, and she felt tears coming on, tears she fought back with everything she had, for she refused to let this brute of a woman see her cry. "I'm dead already. _They'll_ find out you were here. And they'll kill me for it."

"Who? This Cult everyone keeps talking about?"

If the situation wasn't so dire, the Pythia would have laughed. How little this woman knew.

"Speak!" the woman said, cocking her hand back in a threat.

The Pythia raised her hands, trying to forestall a blow. "Yes, the Cult of Kosmos wants you dead. They know you're here. They are the eyes that see, but go unseen."

"Enough riddles. I want names."

That was one thing the Pythia couldn't answer. "I don't know! I swear. They hide behind masks and shrouds." Masks and shrouds and threats.

The woman drew in a deep breath. "So all those prophecies from the gods, all those people... You've been deceiving them all?"

"Most want to know about love or death. I tell them what they want to hear. But when people want to know about war or politics, I'm paid very well to tell them what the _Cult_ wants them to hear."

"And that's why you work for them? For the drachmae?"

It was never about the drachmae, though wrapping herself in the trappings of wealth had soothed her helplessness over the years. "I have no choice. They'll kill me if I don't."

"Even if this is all a deception, you said you saw visions of me. You knew what I'd done in Kephallonia. How?"

She explained the visions she'd received from the Artifact under the temple, and how it revealed what only the gods should know, past, present, and future.

The woman took several long breaths as she absorbed this information. "You have an opportunity to do the right thing. Tell me where to find the Cult."

The Pythia knew the Cult would kill her soon. Her tears threatened to fall once again, and again she fought them back. But then a thought struck her: maybe this woman could do the impossible. Maybe she could disrupt the Cult, distract them long enough for the Pythia to make an escape. "There's an ancient chamber beneath the Temple of Apollo," she said. "I think they meet there. But without one of their cloaks and masks, you won't make it more than two steps inside."

"What do these masks look like?"

She shuddered, remembering. "Like white masks from a theatre, but marked with red paint. And their shrouds are black with neckpieces of gold."

The woman's face didn't reveal if she considered this information good or bad. She simply said, "Thank you."

The Pythia wanted this unwelcome visitor out of her home. She pointed at the doorway. "Now go. You bring nothing but darkness with you."

The woman bowed, and to the Pythia the formality of it seemed to mock her. Then the woman turned and strode out of the chamber, closing its doors behind her, and the Pythia was left to contemplate the things she had done, and what she needed to do, if she had any hope of getting out of Delphi alive.

.oOo.

**The Weapon**

Deimos stood before the guards at the entrance to the sanctum, holding a blood-drenched bag in one hand, and once he knew he had their attention, he reached into the bag and pulled out a human head, reveling as they all flinched in revulsion. He threw the empty bag into the face of the nearest guard, then walked past them without saying a word.

His fingers tightened in the greasy hair atop the head. He didn't kill the man the head had belonged to — someone else had denied him that pleasure — but he had chopped through that neck himself, and placed the head in a bag, and brought it all the way here from the Valley of the Snake. Like all cultists, Elpenor had thought himself very clever. But the fucking fool had gotten himself killed anyway, and his assassin had known enough to take his fragment of the Artifact with them along with his mask and shroud.

In the chamber below, the cultists huddled together in small groups, whispering and scheming. But whispers and schemes were nothing without action. Deimos kicked over a large brazier that burned at the sanctum's entrance, and the sound of heavy bronze crashing against stone turned the attention of everyone in the room upon him.

The cultists gathered like sheep in a circle around the Artifact as he approached, and he threw the head into their midst. It landed with a sodden thump, Elpenor's eyes staring sightlessly at the floor.

Deimos found their shocked silence a balm. "Elpenor is dead," he said, as he walked within the circle. "One of you is a traitor."

No cultist would meet his eyes as he strolled among them. Some shuffled nervously, unsure of what he would do next. He paused and breathed in, taking pleasure in tasting the sour tang of their fear.

He resumed his stroll around the circle. "The Artifact will expose them." Such was the power of his birthright: at his command, the Artifact would reveal a person's deepest secrets. Someone in this room had a secret they didn't want to share.

"Everyone will be tested." He picked a cultist at random, grabbing them by the back of the neck and shoving them to the floor before the Artifact's base. The Artifact itself was a glowing pyramid whose sides were formed by the triangular fragments issued to each member of the Cult, and Deimos noted that tonight, none of the fragments were missing.

The cultist he'd chosen cowered in front of the Artifact, their mask reflecting molten gold in its unnatural light. Deimos grabbed him by the hand — a man's hand, soft and uncalloused — and wrenched him up to his feet. "You first," he said, as he pressed the hand against the Artifact's surface alongside his own. Golden sparks swirled around them, and Deimos felt the familiar vertigo of dropping into someone else's memories. Brief scenes filled his vision: ingots of silver, a large wooden crane lowering a hook into a mine, beaches of white sand. This wasn't the traitor. He tossed the man aside with a dismissive "Go."

He picked out another one, pushing them towards the Artifact. They both touched the surface, and Deimos saw sails waving in the wind, and then a ship on fire in the night. This was not the traitor either. "Go."

No one in the chamber moved, afraid of attracting his notice. It didn't matter; he would test every one even if it took all night. He turned, slowly scanning the masked faces until his eyes settled on a cultist whose robes couldn't hide their warrior's stature. "You," he said, gesturing them towards the Artifact.

This cultist didn't move like the others, not a merchant's diffident steps or a sea captain's rolling gait. No, this one moved like a fighter. Deimos's fingers twitched. He looked forward to seeing this one's memories.

Their hands touched the Artifact, and then Deimos _saw_: a young girl running through a night-dark forest, torches following in the distance... the same girl with her family, the father holding a baby in his arms... lightning streaking across a night sky, its flash illuminating a priest holding a baby at the top of a cliff, and then the baby and priest falling as the girl stood at the edge, looking down...

Deimos jerked his hand away from the Artifact as the image of the girl's face seared itself into his vision, an intruder in a story he knew well because the story was his own.

Then he heard a woman's voice, low and unfamiliar. "Alexios?"

He had not heard that name in a very long time. It had been beaten out of him as a child, along with a great many other things. Weakness leaving the body. That name belonged to a time before he had the strength of the gods, when he cowered under blows and cried in the darkness and fear was all he knew. It was that fear he tasted now, all the more bitter by being his own. "Who are you?" he asked, instead of drawing his sword and running the woman through with it.

She didn't answer, but he knew. He knew who she was.

"Go," he said, instead of killing his own sister.

His stomach turned at his own weakness, and he pointed at the nearest cultist. "You. Get up here." He went through the motions of using the Artifact just long enough for the disgust to overcome him, and he slammed the cultist face-first into the point of the pyramid. The man fell over onto his back. Deimos straddled him and punched him in the face, over and over, letting the rage burn away his fear as the man's face pulped under his fist.

He could feel the terror flowing off the cultists around him in acrid waves, and he stood up and smiled as blood ran down his fingers and dripped on the stone floor.

Terror was his name and terror was his weapon, and soon he would find his sister again and make her feel the fear and pain she had given him all those years ago. Then another long-forgotten name returned to him from the past, a name upon which to focus his anger. Her name. Kassandra.

.oOo.

**The Historian**

Herodotos had spent a lifetime traveling the world, chronicling the histories of poets, warriors, and kings, and none of them were as confounding as the woman known as Kassandra, the Eagle Bearer. At first, he expected her to be nothing more than a common mercenary, hungry for drachmae and armed with more brawn than cunning, but she had quickly disabused him of that notion. No mere mercenary would carry the Spear of Leonidas, and she'd been clever enough to understand the implied threat in the prophecy the Oracle had given him. _"Spring should not wish for winter..."_

Kassandra intrigued him, and he lingered in Delphi longer than he'd originally planned, long enough to see her work. She was not an analytical thinker, bound by the rigid strictures of logic. Instead, she operated on intuition and a canny sense of human nature, and yes, brawn when the situation demanded it, preferring to leap into action and let the gods sort out the rest. Yet despite the dark nature of her Ares-given talents, she was quick to crack a joke, and she had an easy rapport with those she trusted, like the captain of her ship, though her interactions with Herodotos had remained guarded. She was also uncommonly brave, readily choosing to descend into the Cult's hidden sanctum, alone and unarmed, without any knowledge of what she'd find there once inside.

It was her weapons and armor he stood vigil over now, as he waited for her to return from that den of snakes. They'd agreed to meet at a certain fountain outside of Delphi, and Herodotos was to wait for her until nightfall the next day. If she failed to appear before then, he'd assume she was dead and take the Spear with him to Athens.

The Spear of Leonidas could never fall into the Cult's hands.

She arrived at the fountain just before sunrise, still wearing the Cult's mask and shroud, but she was not the same Kassandra he'd left the night before at the sanctum's outside gates. Gone was her confident swagger and purposeful stride, replaced with the sagging shoulders and plodding steps of the hopelessly lost. Herodotos felt his heart constrict in his chest, and he shivered as if chilled.

She slumped onto a stone bench and stared at the fountain's waters. "There were people in the temple. I couldn't see their faces." Her voice was flat, and he felt himself shiver again. "They... Herodotos, they control all of the Greek world. Everything."

He clasped his hands behind his back and straightened, trying to will his spine to iron. "I see. It's worse than I thought."

"There's more. They have a weapon."

"What... kind?"

"A soldier. Stronger and more ferocious than any I've ever seen. Herodotos, it's my brother," she said, her voice cracking.

"We need to get to Athens."

"Athens? We need to find my mother." She stood up suddenly. "My clothes. My spear."

"Of course," he said, turning to retrieve them.

"My spear!" She was almost frantic, pacing to and fro until he handed over the heavy bundle of armor and weapons. She tossed the mask and shroud to the ground and tore into the bundle, and it wasn't until she'd tightened the last straps on her breastplate and snugged her spear into its sheath that she finally calmed down.

It was time for Herodotos to tell her about the man he worked for: Perikles, the elected leader of democratic Athens, who was working to stop this endless war between his polis and Sparta. If this Cult conspired against him, he needed to be warned, and her eyewitness account would be far stronger than anything Herodotos himself could say.

Despite Kassandra's skepticism at the effectiveness of Perikles's leadership, Herodotos pressed her to decide her next course of action. "We need to go."

"To Athens?! They're hunting my family. My mother. I have to find her."

His frustration grew. "You carry the blade of Leonidas. Act like it! If Perikles doesn't put an end to this war, we're all as good as dead — including your mother."

"Fuck your war!"

"You have a duty to the Greek world. We both do. Perikles must be warned."

"She is my _mother_. What would you have me do?"

Then he understood: she was driven by more than just drachmae, and her feelings of duty to Greece were specks of dust compared to her duty to her family. He changed tack. "If there is one place where we can find information about your mother, it is in Athens."

She crossed her arms. "How?"

Perikles had turned Athens into a haven for the brightest minds in the Greek world. Surely some scholar or historian could illuminate the path forward, and Perikles himself might be persuaded to lend some of his considerable resources to the task. As Herodotos explained his reasoning, he could see her begin to come around in agreement. He sighed in relief. It was always easier to work with someone who was open to rational arguments.

But there was one thing that itched at the back of his mind, one thing he needed to confirm before they sailed all the way to Attika. "Before we go to Athens, I need you to meet me at the Lion of Leonidas in Thermopylai."

Her brows creased. "The Lion of Leonidas? Why?"

"There's something I need to know. Something that may help us take down this Cult — and save your mother."

She seemed to trust him enough to accept that answer. "Very well. But let's make it quick, Herodotos. First Thermopylai, then we go to Athens." _This_ was the Kassandra he had met days ago, decisive and inclined to action instead of thinking.

Herodotos watched her as she walked away, a growing sense of unease taking root in his chest. Who knew how long this Cult had influenced the political machinations of the Greek city-states through its control of the flow of money and power. There wasn't a living being in Greece untouched by their shadowy actions, and the fate of all those lives would likely be determined by the decisions of a woman who was less a hero than someone very, very human.

He found that thought to be unsettling indeed.


	8. A Simple Exchange of Services

A moonless night over Athens: dust in the warm air, and the cloying scent of hyacinth on a teasing hint of breeze. The city's watch stood guard at their posts. Kassandra had observed the sculptor's workshop from a nearby rooftop for nearly three hours, waiting for her plans to converge.

The sculptor was confined to his workshop by a single guard posted at its door — odd security for a man about to undergo a trial that could result in a death sentence. Maybe these Athenians were used to meekly accepting their own deaths instead of trying to flee for their lives. Did they offer to help sharpen the blades of their executioners, too? Whatever the reason, the lax security served to help her now.

She climbed down from the roof, and brushed the tile dust off of her chiton and the chlamys wrapped about her shoulders and body. She'd left her armor back on the Adrestia, and the Spear of Leonidas was the only weapon she carried, hidden in its sheath underneath her wrap.

She walked around the corner and onto the road that passed the workshop, keeping her hips loose and her steps short, hoping her silhouette read more woman than warrior.

The guard held up his hand. "Stop! I can't let you go any further."

"Please, I must see Phidias. It's important."

"So is keeping people out. Maybe you can see him after his trial — if the people spare his life."

"It's been so long since Phidias and I have... _seen_ each other. You understand, don't you?"

"Well, well..." he chuckled. "Phidias has a thing for farm girls, eh? Come to pay him a last visit before the trial? He's as good as dead, you know. Better make this one count."

Kassandra felt a twinge in her blade hand but let it pass. "Just don't tell anyone I was here," she said, glancing around.

"Sure, sure. And make it quick."

The guard stood aside and let her into the workshop, closing the solid wooden doors behind her. The interior was large and open, with high ceilings and ample floorspace. Huge blocks of marble and wood sat on the floor awaiting the sculptor's hand. In the torchlight, the marble seemed to glow from within, and the pallets of wood threw sharp shadows against the walls. She breathed in, smelling stone dust and wood shavings. The sound of a wooden mallet striking a chisel bounced among the marble blocks, and a figure stood in the loft that ran along the back wall of the workshop. She pulled the torch off the wall next to the entrance doors and extinguished it, then put out every torch she passed as she made her way to the ladder that led up to the loft.

She climbed out of the darkness. A man stood in the corner, busy hewing chunks out of a marble block with the mallet and chisel by the light of a lamp, so absorbed in his work that he didn't hear her footsteps behind him.

She cleared her throat, and he whirled around in surprise, dropping his tools. The floor vibrated with the thump of the mallet's landing.

His eyes moved wildly. "How did you get past the guard? No one gets past the guard."

"Relax. Perikles sent me."

"Praise Athena, I knew he'd send help. I was worried _they_ sent someone after me."

_They?_ "I'm here to get you out of Athens."

"So he knows about the plot."

"You mean the trial? From what I've seen, you don't stand a chance."

"Bah! The people love me. I am _the_ Phidias! But there are others in the darkness. Look." He picked up a scroll that sat on the table that held his tools, but hesitated before handing it over.

"Give it here," she said, taking it from his hand. She unrolled it and began reading.

"You know how to read."

She had no idea what he was getting at. "Yes, and?"

"You must be Spartan, but you're not like any Spartan I've ever met."

She ignored him and focused on the scroll. The handwriting was nervous and shaky, despite the threatening words within:

_D,_  
_Sharpen your knives._  
_The sculptor Phidias must be killed._  
_If he dies messy, it will make them fear us even more._

The Cult. "It isn't the trial that Perikles is saving you from," she said. "These are instructions to murder you. Who wrote this?"

"I don't know! I'm just an artist. I just want to create. Please, what am I to do?"

"First, you need to pull yourself together. You've got big problems."

Phidias began to panic, waving his arms as he paced back and forth.

She grabbed his shoulder and shook it hard. "I said, pull yourself together."

He cowered under her grasp. "Yes, of course."

"Now—" She was cut off by the sound of the entrance doors creaking open.

"The guard!" Phidias whispered.

She blew out the oil lamp on the table and the loft went dark. "Listen carefully," she said in a low voice. "Sneak out that window on the back wall. Go to the Temple of Asklepios in Piraeus. Look for a blind beggar named Eteocles and follow him to safety. Got it?"

"Yes, yes."

"Good. Now go while I deal with the guard." She crouched at the edge of the loft while Phidias made for the window.

Then she heard the voice of the guard she'd spoken to earlier. "You didn't really think I'd let you come and go as you pleased, did you? Now, where are you?"

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she held her breath and listened. Two sets of footsteps on the floor below, one light and one heavy. She could not see them as much as she could sense them, for with the moon hidden, the only light that entered the workshop was a faint glow from the entrance doors.

The heavy one's footsteps plodded closer. She unclasped her chlamys and let it fall from her shoulders, then reached back and silently drew her spear. It was strange to feel leather wrapped around its handle where there had once been only roughened wood. The Ancient Forge on Andros had taken the spear and improved it, and only the gods knew the nature of the magic that had made that happen.

When she heard the heavy one pass directly beneath her, she leapt from the edge of the loft upon him, using his body to break her fall as her shins slammed into his bull-like shoulders. She drove the spear into what she hoped was the back of his neck, and felt her blade slicing between bone.

"What the fuck?! Gaios?" The first guard's voice again, his bravado gone. It came from somewhere between her and the workshop entrance.

Her spear hand was slick with blood, and every sense grew more acute as she slipped into the blood craving. A slight chill wafted out of the darkness to her immediate left. Cold marble. She reached out with her off hand until she touched the stone, then ran her fingers over it as a guide as she crept forward.

Fumbling noises in front of her, someone rummaging in their belt. She followed the sound. It was too dark to tell which direction the guard was facing, until he struck a spark from a flint, and in its brief flash of light saw him standing with his back to her. She slipped behind him and punched the spear through his cuirass right between his shoulder blades. He fell in a heap, breathing his last as she wiped her bloody hands and spear on his tunic. Hopefully Perikles wouldn't hold the deaths of the two guards against her too badly.

Kassandra stowed her spear and peered out the workshop door. A few travelers on the road, but no guards or watchmen. Even at night, Athens was far noisier than any place she'd ever been, and with the cacophony of people talking and singing, the bleating of livestock, and the ringing of hoofbeats, it was doubtful anyone passing by the workshop had any idea of what had just gone on inside.

She stepped out into the cooling air and strolled around to the rear of the workshop. No sign of Phidias, which was promising. She set off for the port, keeping an eye out as she retraced the path he likely would have taken. If he was smart enough to follow her instructions, he would have found Barnabas disguised as a beggar on the steps of the temple, waiting to escort him to the Adrestia.

She searched the sky for the stars of the always-turning wagon, and noted how far its position had changed since she'd arrived at the workshop. She lengthened her stride and picked up her pace. Time was wasting.

.oOo.

The Adrestia sat by the dock, her crew busily at work in stark contrast with the silent and empty ships nearby. Barnabas paced the deck, giving orders and assisting with the work.

She greeted him when she reached the top of the gangplank.

"Captain on deck!" he shouted, changing his course to meet her. "All right lads, prepare to make way."

"Phidias make it aboard?" she asked.

"Aye, Captain. He's back near the helm." Barnabas looked her up and down. "I take it everything went well?"

"None of the blood's mine," she said, walking with him back to the stern. The deck rocked from side to side as the crew pushed the ship away from the dock.

Phidias jumped to his feet at their approach. "Thank you for rescuing me, Kassandra."

"Don't thank me yet," she said, waving him off. They still had a long way to go. "Where should I take you from here?"

"Seriphos. My friend Theras lives there. When I discovered the plot against me, I sent word to him. If anyone can help us, he can."

"Good."

Barnabas clapped Phidias on the shoulder. "Are you ready to pretend to be one of my crew?"

The sculptor chuckled nervously.

Kassandra furrowed her brows, remembering how easily he'd panicked back in the workshop. "We have to sneak past that blockade, Barnabas. He doesn't have the nerve to pass an inspection if we're stopped."

"Hey, I'm standing right here!" Phidias said.

She stared at him. "Well, do you?"

He ducked his head. "No, I don't. I'm already terrified just standing here... But I'll do whatever you ask, Eagle Bearer." He must have been talking to Barnabas to have learned that nickname.

"We'll try our best, Captain," Barnabas said. "It's a good thing Artemis stayed home this evening." Then he took up his station at the steering oars.

Far ahead, the Athenian ships were scattered across the exit to the breakwater, the lights on their masts glittering in the darkness. The walls of the breakwater were lit by torches here and there, but only enough to guess at its outline — no sane captain sailed at night. Kassandra hoped to turn that to their advantage.

She heard footsteps climbing the stairs to the helm, and turned to see Gelon reporting in from belowdecks. "The oarsmen are ready, Captain."

"Have the men extinguish all the lights, Gelon. We're not stopping for that blockade. Sails to full once we pass."

There was a pause, then Gelon said, "You ballsy fucker. You're actually going to try to slip by them."

"That's the plan."

"I'll tell the boys to row _quietly_."

One by one, the crewmen snuffed out the lights hanging on the masts and the braziers fore and aft. Kassandra looked over waters so dark they could have been scooped out from the Underworld. The pinpoints of light dispersed across the other ships and the far shore gave her a rough outline of their surroundings, but the dark spaces in between were a mystery. Every so often, some part of the rigging would clank against the mast, but the breeze was blowing enough that she had to strain to hear the creaking of the oarlocks and the slap of oar blades hitting the water.

Once they reached the entrance to the breakwater, Barnabas kept them away from the rocky shallows and on course down the center of the channel. The blockade ships were jewels on a necklace that stretched from the tip of the peninsula to the island of Salamis. As they exited the channel, Barnabas steered hard to the right, the deck tilting under Kassandra's feet as Phidias let out a frightened moan.

She could see the gap Barnabas was aiming for: a patch of darkness between two massive triremes. The oarsmen slowed their cadence, and Barnabas made adjustments to their course as the currents shifted.

The lamp-lit decks of the Athenian triremes seemed to hover over their dark hulls, their reflections bobbing in the waves. She could only hope there was enough distance between the two ships for a smaller ship like the Adrestia to pass without silhouetting itself against the reflected light.

No one on the Adrestia spoke. Oars dipped into ink-dark water. The blockade line came closer and closer. She could hear the laughter of the Athenian crewmen echoing across the waves.

Then the Adrestia was inside the blockade, between the triremes, Barnabas's course placing them neatly in the middle. Kassandra found she was holding her breath.

They glided on. The Athenian ships remained in their nighttime calm. She watched them pass, Chronos playing tricks of time upon her as he stretched the moment longer and longer, until she found herself needing to turn her neck and look backwards to see them, and the deck lurched as the oarsmen began to row faster. They were clear.

"We made it," Phidias murmured in wonder.

Kassandra watched the Athenian ships grow smaller with every sweep of the oars, and soon they returned to being mere jewels of light in the distance. She heard Gelon shouting for the lamps and braziers to be relit, and for the men to unfurl the sails.

"That was a fine piece of helm work, Barnabas," she said.

"I've still got something left in these old sea legs."

"Think we can make it to Seriphos tonight?"

"Aye, but the crew won't like it. They'll be rowing all night."

Phidias spoke up. "I would be happy to provide them a bonus for their troubles."

Kassandra's estimation of him went up. "That's appreciated," she said. "And they can have an extra day of rest when we reach port. We've still got time before the symposium."

All this work just to earn an invitation from Perikles to attend some party. For all of Herodotos's lofty descriptions of Athens, it turned out the city was no better than anywhere else — everything came at a price.

And rescuing Phidias was only one favor among many.

.oOo.

Kassandra leaned against the Adrestia's railing, enjoying the warmth of the afternoon sun on her skin as she watched the waves sweep across the bay. Seriphos had proven a pleasant place for a layover, with good weather and a fresh sea breeze that blew across the island. Most of the crew was off enjoying themselves in port, but she could hear Gelon bickering with Barnabas over their preparations for departure tomorrow. She knew how their argument would go: Gelon would curse up a storm, Barnabas would let her irritation roll off him like water off a gull's back, and then Gelon would do as she'd been ordered to do. She'd proven to be a good first mate despite all the complaining.

Phidias had made it safely to his friend Theras's estate in the outskirts of the chora. Not only was Theras able to shelter the sculptor, he provided Kassandra documents that revealed the identity of another member of the Cult: Brison, a wastrel of a man who hid in his family's quarry on Salamis while he plotted to end Phidias's life.

She'd filed that tidbit along with the rest of the documents she'd stolen from the cultists' hidden chamber in Delphi, waiting for the day they'd prove their worth.

She spent the rest of the morning napping in the shade under a palm tree, and after that she'd taken some time to clean her gear. She still marveled at what the Ancient Forge had done to her spear. What had once been a splintered wooden shaft had transformed into a long, leather-wrapped handle with silver fittings, and where rusty pockmarks had once covered the blade, it was now smooth, polished steel, sharper than ever. She'd figured out that the cultists' fragments of the Artifact could be used to power the Forge, and if this was the result she could expect in exchange, she'd consider it a fair trade.

What hadn't been a fair trade was her subsequent conversation with Alexi— Deimos. Saying that name was painful, like biting her own tongue. The Cult had literally renamed him after the god of terror, and she would have rolled her eyes if he hadn't been so fucking unhinged. He'd bounced between being charming, sarcastic, and menacing, and he'd slapped her for suggesting they join forces to find their mother.

The slap had hurt in the moment, but what kept her awake during the nights that followed was that he'd struck her so swiftly she couldn't possibly have dodged the blow, and even at a fraction of his strength it knocked her back a step. She had no hope of defeating him in single combat.

She stared at the waves, her mood turning dark. She was only alive now because Deimos allowed it. How long did she really have before he changed his mind?

The railing creaked under her grip, and she forced herself to breathe, to think in steps.

Go to the symposium. Figure out which guests could help her. Her path laid out in a nice, simple plan.

She needed the lie of it, needed something to cling to. If monsters lurked in the dark, she'd focus on the light of a lamp.

.oOo.

On the evening of the symposium, Kassandra arrived at Perikles's home at the agreed upon time and found Phoibe of all people waiting to meet her.

"Kassandra! It's you!" Phoibe said, running towards her.

Kassandra dropped to her knees and gathered Phoibe into her arms. "Phoibe!"

"You promised we'd see each other again, and now we have!"

They hugged, then Kassandra held her out at arm's length. Phoibe looked healthy and well fed, and her tunic was spotlessly clean, decorated with embroidered knotwork patterns around its edges. Seeing her here didn't feel real. "I can't believe you're here."

"Me either. I can't believe we both made it to Athens. It's _so_ much different than Kephallonia."

She was certainly right about that. "But what are you doing here?"

Phoibe straightened, remembering her duties. "I'm here to get you ready. Come with me," she said. She led Kassandra to a small room away from the entryway, furnished with low shelves of polished wood and a few short benches for seating. Thick wool rugs covered the floor and the air smelled of flowers. Phoibe gestured at Kassandra's sword. "I'm supposed to make sure you leave all your weapons and change into different clothes."

"So you work for Perikles?"

"No, for Aspasia."

Perikles's consort? _That_ Aspasia? "How did that happen?"

"Well... I did get into a little bit of trouble after I got to Athens. I may have taken over a small gang of orphans and tried to cheat Aspasia out of a bale of silk."

"'May have taken over', huh?" Kassandra felt more than a little pride at Phoibe's resourcefulness, even though she'd gotten caught. "And you... convinced her to hire you?"

"No, she asked me on her own."

"That was lucky."

Phoibe walked across the room to a set of shelves. A bag rested on top of it, soft and pillowed. She picked it up and handed it to Kassandra. "Change into these."

Kassandra peeked inside the bag. The fabric she saw there looked awfully _feminine_. "I don't understand why I have to."

"It's just what you do here. I felt weird at first, but you forget about it pretty fast."

"And my weapons?"

"I'll take care of them. You don't want to scare people in there, do you?"

If they didn't give Kassandra what she wanted, she absolutely wanted to scare them. "I don't see what's wrong with what I'm wearing."

"The Athenians like it best when you try to fit in. You in that armor is definitely not fitting in."

It seemed Phoibe had changed in the several months since they'd seen each other, and Kassandra wondered if she herself had changed also. Maybe she had, for there was a time in the past where there was no chance in Hades she'd ever wear a lady's finery. She sighed in defeat. "I'll get changed," she said, taking the bundle from Phoibe. "Promise you'll take care of my things?"

"I promise. Just leave them over there. I'll come back to get you in a little while."

Kassandra set the bag down on a nearby bench and unclasped the crimson shawl she wore over her shoulders. She took off her armor, setting the breastplate, bracers, and greaves on the floor before pulling her tunic up and over her head. She draped it over the bench, then opened the bag and pulled out a dress.

The dress was made from the most expensive linen she'd ever held, dyed the same shade of crimson as the shawl she wore over her armor. She stepped into the dress, snugged its fabric over her hips, and found that it clasped at one shoulder with a golden medallion similar to the one she used for her shawl. Someone had been paying attention to her details. The last item left in the bag was a shorter length of fabric that moved like liquid. It was silk, dyed in a delicate cream, and she picked it up carefully with two fingers. She ran it through her hands, charmed by its softness, careful not to let it snag on her calloused skin. It wasn't immediately clear what she was supposed to do with it, however, so she wrapped it around her waist and tied off its ends in a loose knot.

A polished copper mirror hung on the wall, and her curiosity got the best of her even though she already knew what she'd see: a scarred body in a rich woman's clothes, none of it "fitting in."

She saw the scar where a pirate's blade had opened up her left shoulder, and also the three-pronged scar on her right arm, its ropy welts stark against her skin. She'd been lucky she hadn't lost use of the arm entirely after that one. And then there were the scars on her face, on her chin, brow, and the bridge of her nose among all the others. She knew from intimate experience how easily skin splits from a blow over bone.

She lived in the face and body she had earned, and no amount of fine linen and silk could hide that.

Then Phoibe returned to the room, and Kassandra was grateful for the interruption. She turned away from the mirror, fussing with the drape of the dress as Phoibe led her back to the main hallway. "I feel... uncomfortable in this," she said.

"Now you look like everyone else."

"You say that like it's a good thing."

"It is. If you want Athenians to take you seriously, this is the easiest way. Trust me."

They'd reached the entrance to the atrium. By the sound of it, the party was well under way, with musicians playing a lyre and drums as the air vibrated with the conversations of a room full of people. "Do I need anything else?" Kassandra asked.

Phoibe reached up and patted her arm. "You're all set. Don't worry, you've done scarier things than this."

"I'm struggling to think of any right now," Kassandra said. "Are you sure I can't keep just _one_ weapon with me?"

Phoibe wagged a finger. "No weapons! Now hurry and go in!"

Kassandra took a deep breath, and did what she was told.

.oOo.

It turned out the Athenian idea of a party was a bunch of men talking at each other. Too bad it wasn't winter — the amount of hot air being emitted could have warmed the entire city of Athens. Kassandra was the only woman in attendance who wasn't a servant. The Athenians left their women uneducated and hid them behind the walls of their homes, and if that was freedom and democracy, they could keep it to themselves.

Herodotos had intercepted her as soon as she'd arrived, and he'd given her the lay of the land, pointing out which guests might be able to help her and which ones would only waste her time. She appreciated his guidance, as every guest here appeared equally boring, with the exception of the man known as Alkibiades, whose naked entrance to the party had caused quite the scene.

Eyes watched her wherever she went, some curious, some unfriendly. Weaponless and out of place, her hackles raised under the constant scrutiny, and it was a struggle to keep her hands from balling into fists.

She drifted among the guests, playing whatever role they assumed of her, in turns a servant, an Olympic athlete, a courtesan. It comforted these men to have their assumptions confirmed, and their casual dismissal of her worth had first stung, then settled into a slow, simmering anger.

Anywhere else, and she would have already started busting in some heads.

If her restraint had earned her anything, it was the frequent mention of two names — the Argive playwright Euripides and the politician Alkibiades — as two men worldly enough to know where a mother might have sought help for an injured baby. Alkibiades was nowhere to be seen, but Euripides stood in a corner in close conversation with another man.

She stepped into the path of a passing servant and relieved her of her jug of wine with an apologetic bow, then walked up to Euripides and his scrawny companion, holding up the jug as an introduction. "You two look like you could use some wine."

The scrawny one turned to Euripides. "It offers us a drink. What do you say, friend?"

Euripides stayed silent, but his eyes studied Kassandra with interest.

Kassandra imagined using her spear to carve open the scrawny man's throat. "Did you just call me 'it'? Watch your mouth, Athenian."

He laughed. "This foreigner's a feisty one. Very well, if you're not an it, what are you called, then?"

"Kassandra."

"I am Aristophanes, and my silent friend here is Euripides. Go on, introduce yourself." He nudged the burly man with his elbow.

"I'm Euripides."

He was clearly a man of few words, something Kassandra could appreciate after spending much of her evening listening to inane prattle. Still, she needed him to talk, and hoped wine would be the key that unlocked his tongue. "For a playwright, you're not much for words."

"'Good men lead quiet lives,' as old Euripides likes to say. Don't you, Euripides?"

Euripides said nothing.

"Quickly, pour him some wine so that he might say something clever!"

Kassandra raised the jug. "I'm here to serve."

That made Euripides speak up. "And those are wine-pouring muscles of yours?"

"For you, yes. In other times..." she trailed off, letting them make their own conclusions. "Let's conjure Dionysos, shall we?" she said, filling both their cups to the brim.

They drank, and Aristophanes warded off any silence by talking enough for the three of them. Five cups in and no one noticed that Kassandra had only had one cup of her own. Eight cups in and Aristophanes was turning to vomit into a decorative urn in the corner.

Euripides swayed from side to side and pointed at Kassandra. "You... I like you. Who brought you here?"

"I brought myself. I'm searching for a woman who fled Sparta a long time ago."

"Fled? Why?"

"She lost two children to treachery. She had no choice."

Aristophanes grabbed Euripides by the shoulder. "She fled to heal her broken heart. Euripides, write her into a play."

Euripides thought for a moment. "In times of trouble, mothers go to a sanctuary in Argolis to beg Asklepios for his divine pity. I should know — it's my home."

"After what she went through, I'm not sure she'd trust priests."

"Then she sought my friend Hippokrates of Argos. He's a physician, not a priest. If she went to him for help, there's no doubt he'd have given it."

She thanked him, then excused herself by waving the near-empty wine jug. Aristophanes burst into drunken song behind her. Many of the other guests were in a similar state, having enjoyed cup after cup of their host's generosity. The three cups she'd had so far had made her looser in her joints, but her anger still simmered and she'd grown tired of all the stares. The sooner she found Akibiades, the sooner she could talk to Perikles and leave.

She followed the path Alkibiades had taken after his grand entrance, entering a hallway along the back length of the house. A man sat on the floor, mumbling to himself, his tunic stained with wine.

"Where's Alkibiades?" she asked.

The man pointed a wobbly finger towards a set of double doors at the end of the hall.

As she approached, she heard a woman shriek, and then the sound of breaking pottery. Before she could stop herself, she ran up to the doors and pounded her fist against the wood. "Open this door, or I'll kick it in!"

The doors flew open, and Alkibiades stood in the doorway, still naked, appearing utterly unconcerned about the noise that had escaped his chambers. As they stood there staring at each other, a goat appeared behind him, then wandered past them into the hallway.

"Don't mind her," he said, nodding at the goat. "She likes to watch." Then his attention returned to Kassandra. "Look at you," he said, circling her like a piece of art. "Such authority, such aggression. I can see why Perikles has taken such an interest in you. Did you come to join us?"

"I thought I heard someone being attacked." She tried very hard not to think about the goat or its implications.

"Pleasure... and pain... can sound so similar. Tell me, warrior, do you prefer one above the other?"

"I'm only here for information."

"So you're here just to use me? How exciting. Had I known _you_ were going to stop by, I would have left my door wide, wide open."

"I'm trying to find a woman—"

"Aren't we all?" he mused. "Maybe she's in here?" He looked inside his chambers.

"I doubt it."

"I think I'll check all the same." He stepped back and began to close the doors.

She reached out and stopped them from shutting with her hands. "Wait."

He stared at her expectantly.

This party finally had a chance at being interesting. She placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back inside the chamber, letting the doors swing shut behind her.

In the candlelight, a naked man stood in the corner, frozen in mid-stroke, while two beautifully naked women lounged in the center of an enormous bed. The air was heavy with sex and sweat. Clearly the four of them had been enjoying themselves for some time.

She'd entered the chamber without a plan, but the sight of the two women on the bed sent a jolt through her that ended deep in her belly. Alkibiades, to his credit, knew how to pick his partners. Both women could have been muses for Phidias's sculptures, and neither objected to her presence — or her intent, as she backed Alkibiades up against a bench at the foot of the bed and pushed him down so he sat upon it. She patted his cheek and said, "_You_ get to watch," her tone allowing no argument. Then to the man in the corner: "Same goes to you."

She shed her uncomfortable clothes and her party guest role. She'd much rather be whatever these women needed. They traded glances, then slow smiles, and then they both reached for her and welcomed her in.

She kissed one, then the other, tasting them both before giving them a slow smile of appreciation. She touched them, stroking her fingers over skin as their heartbeats quickened, and she didn't rush to figure them out. They would tell her themselves in due time, and getting them to that place was the performance, woven together by her gaze, by her languid movements, by the way she divided her attention between them, capturing them with a touch, then letting them struggle within her net, and when their bodies began to beg in shudders and gasps, she set them free. They all went to different places, satisfied in their own ways.

Eventually, she untangled herself from the limbs wrapped around her and found Alkibiades watching her with a heavy-lidded gaze, his lips quirked in an indulgent smile. She slid onto the bench behind him and leaned forward, her breasts barely grazing his back as she whispered across his ear, "What did you say about being wide open for me?"

"I'm all yours."

"Then give me the information I want."

He turned around. "Keeping your eye on the prize, I see. I like that. Ask your question."

"If a Spartan woman needed to flee her homeland, where would she go?"

"Flee Sparta? No one flees Sparta!" he said in mock surprise, but then he grew serious as his mind dug into the question. "But, let's pretend she did. If she were stupid, she'd be dead. If she were smart, she'd do what Aspasia did — she'd earn her independence. The smartest and most... resourceful women I've ever met have been in Korinthia."

"You mean the hetaerae?"

"The ones in Korinth are courtesans unlike any other — a force of smarts and cunning. When you get there, find Anthousa. No one goes in or out of the city without her knowing."

"You've been very helpful." He hadn't been, but she needed allies in this city, and she sensed a sharp mind hidden behind his hedonism.

He grinned. "And you've been very entertaining."

"As has _this_," she said, gesturing towards the bed. "But I really—"

"—need to be going," he finished for her. "Of course. I'm sure you have a great deal of warrior business to attend to." He reached down and handed over her clothes from where they'd fallen on the floor.

She dressed, and he escorted her back to the room's entrance, opening it and letting her pass by.

"Until we meet again, mercenary," he said, winking. Then he shut the doors, leaving her in the hallway alone with her thoughts.

Her feet wandered. Sounds from the atrium told her the party had continued on, and would likely keep going until sunrise. When a servant passed carrying cups of wine, she took one and drank it, and when she found a bathroom, she went inside and poured a basin of clean, cold water and washed the women off her hands and skin until her fingers tingled from the chill.

Alkibiades had given her another name in another city and nothing more, and she filed _Anthousa of Korinth_ next to _Hippokrates of Argos_ in her mind. Could she convince them to help her? And would they even remember a Spartan woman from so long ago? The answers had to be yes. Hope was a living thing that needed to be nurtured and fed.

Her hopes would have to sustain themselves on the smallest of crumbs.


	9. A Day Like No Other

On an autumn morning in Athens, Kassandra sat at the edge of the Adrestia's deck and fought with her restlessness. She wished to be elsewhere, in Argolis, but she was stuck here in port until the ship was finished being outfitted. She'd go nowhere until their stores of food and water were restocked, or until the worn-out lines in the rigging were replaced with new. Barnabas had said it would take most of the day.

Ikaros chirped at her from his perch on the rail. "I know, I want to be moving too," she said. Whenever she stilled, she thought of all the things she didn't want to. Deimos saying Athens would be his next target. The dark eyes of the Cult roaming over land and sea, searching for her mother.

Ikaros chirped again, then Phoibe's voice called out to her from the dock below. "Kassandra!"

Her heart lifted as Phoibe scampered up the gangplank. "Hey you. How'd you get all the way out here?" she asked, patting the deck beside her. The port was a long way from the city. Phoibe flopped down, all knees and elbows and gangly limbs, and Kassandra realized with a start how much she'd grown in nearly a year.

"I sneaked a ride."

"Of course you did."

Phoibe thumped her heels against the hull. "Everyone's still talking about you after the symposium."

"They are?"

"Yeah. Most of them think you're going to the Olympics as Aspasia's secret champion."

Kassandra snorted.

"And I overheard Alkibiades say something about your magical two-hand technique—"

She cut Phoibe off. "And, there's my new rigging," she said, pointing down to the dock, where two of the crew were carrying heavy coils of rope, stoop-shouldered under the weight. She didn't need Phoibe seeing her ears burning.

They sat in the sunshine, watching the crew at work, until Phoibe asked, "Are you bored?"

"Why?"

"You always look like that when you're bored."

Kassandra didn't know what _like that_ looked like. "You're not going to be in trouble for being here, are you?"

"Aspasia said I could have a free day. And then she told me your ship was in the Port of Piraeus."

This Aspasia seemed to know everything that went on in Athens. It took many eyes and ears to know that much in a city this big. "That was... kind of her."

"She's really nice."

She better be.

They sat in silence for a while longer before Phoibe spoke up again. "I have drachmae," she said.

"Me too."

"We have money now."

"We do." Kassandra wondered what Phoibe was angling for.

"Want to see the city? I mean, I can show you around."

Kassandra smiled. "I would love to." She understood then what Phoibe had been hinting at: they could wander Athens like people with means, taking in the sights, buying fruits and sweets, enjoying themselves in leisure.

Phoibe bounced with excitement all the way down to the dock. Kassandra followed behind, smoothing her grey chiton beneath her old shoulder harness and adjusting her spear in its sheath on her back. No need for armor when she wasn't on the job.

"Let's take Phobos," she called out to Phoibe before the girl ran off too far ahead.

Phobos was picketed outside the stables next to the docks. Kassandra snagged an apple from the stableboy and flipped him a coin, then sliced the apple into quarters with her spear. Leonidas would have to forgive her such a mundane use of his blade.

Phoibe was already perched on the fence next to Phobos, happily chatting away.

"Here," Kassandra said, handing Phoibe the apple before she began untying his lead. He chuffed at her chest, then turned his head to accept the apple slices Phoibe offered. Once Kassandra had him untied, she helped Phoibe climb on his broad back before she swung herself up behind.

Their path skirted the Temple of Asklepios and the market, and then they passed through the fortified gate at the entrance to the Long Walls, which stretched from the port all the way to Athens. The thick, stone walls protected the road and kept the Spartans from cutting Athens off from its port.

Phoibe settled back for the ride against Kassandra's chest, and then, unbidden and unwelcome, a vision of what could have been ghosted through Kassandra's mind. She and Alexios, riding together on a horse between fields of wheat that stretched out like a golden blanket in every direction. She blinked hard and dispelled the image from her thoughts. She had stopped daydreaming about such things long ago, but here one was, like a weed that had escaped pulling.

"Are there really Spartans outside the walls?" Phoibe asked.

"Yes, entire camps of them." Kassandra had seen them, had slipped through their lines on her way to the city. They hoped to starve Athens into submission, and they'd already taken the fields outside the walls for their own. Only the mighty Athenian navy kept the city fed and supplied.

"It doesn't feel like we're in a war."

"Let's hope it stays that way." With all of Greece taking up arms there were precious few places of safety remaining. Even with an army camped outside, there were worse places Phoibe could be.

Soon they passed the gate at the other end of the Long Walls and entered the city proper. They left Phobos at a stable on the edge of the warehouse district, and after that, Phoibe led the way, skipping around Kassandra as she pointed out the sights: _Here's where I punched some kid in the mouth_ and _That villa's where I borrowed enough food to feast for a week_ and _There's the jail — but I've never been inside it_. Phoibe already knew every path and alleyway around the agora, and for good reason — it was the city's heart, a sea of market stalls where anything could be bought or sold or stolen.

As Phoibe spun a story about a smuggling scheme she'd stumbled upon while working for Aspasia, they entered the outer edges of the market, and Kassandra watched her instinctively retie her coin pouch tighter on her belt without pausing her tale. Kassandra's own awareness prickled higher with the growing crowds, and she rested a hand on Phoibe's shoulder as they walked. The air warmed with the heat of bodies, smelling of sweat, and perfumed oils, and spices.

Up ahead, a merchant hawked cups of wine. "In summer they mix it with snow," Phoibe said. Snow from the high mountains of wild Thrakia, brought by fast horses and faster ships to cool a drink on a hot day. Such were the wonders that could be found in Athens.

Kassandra stopped and bought skewers of roasted meat and a nutcake for them to share, and they took their bounty to a fountain bubbling nearby. Its waters were cold and clear, and servants from nearby villas filled jug after jug from it. Kassandra couldn't tell if the fountain was situated on a spring, or if it was fed from the pipes that brought clean water to the people in another of the city's wonders.

Bellies full, they basked in the sunshine and watched people go about their business, making a game of coming up with backstories for strangers.

"Now, that guy's a merchant," Phoibe said, pointing a man out of the crowd.

"Oh?"

"See how he's all hunched over, with his hand on his purse? He keeps looking around like he's up to something shady."

"By his clothes, he's bad at it." His purple shawl was faded, and his jewelry was copper instead of silver or gold.

"I bet he got swindled and he's running a scheme to get his drachmae back." Phoibe pointed out another man. "What about him?"

A glance was all Kassandra needed. "He's a wrestler. His ears give him away." As did his stocky build, and the unblemished skin on his arms and hands. A fighter, but for sport instead of stakes far higher.

"They're messed up!"

"It happens if they get hit hard enough," Kassandra said. She watched the man disappear into the crowd, knowing Phoibe's eyes were upon her.

"Your ears are fine."

"I don't wrestle all the time. And I try not to get punched."

"Except in the nose."

It felt like forever ago that she'd tangled with that pair of thugs sent by the Cyclops. One delivered her a message with the end of his fist. "_That_ guy got lucky. And anyway, I was distracted." By studying her spear, dreaming of a life away from Kephallonia. She'd gotten her wish in the end, but the Fates had spun her a thread far more complicated than she expected.

A young woman strolled by carrying a lyre, and she set up shop next to the road. She plucked a few notes on her instrument, and for a moment, Kassandra thought she might play the Song of Leonidas, a strange choice for an Athenian market square with the city under siege by Spartan troops.

Instead, she began to play the melody to an old drinking song, light and playful within the upper reaches of the lyre's register. Then, she sang:

_Dionysos, bring me your gifts._  
_Send my worries to the land of sleep._  
_In green grass I'll lay,_  
_my head crowned in flowers._  
_Oh, bring me a cup,_  
_make me king for a day._

Phoibe rested her head against Kassandra's shoulder, as Kassandra hummed along, enjoying the feeling of the song thrumming in her chest.

The musician braided one melody into another, slower, but no less delicate than the first. Her voice shaded with longing, and she sang:

_Weave for me,_  
_the threads of your love,_  
_so I may wear them next to my skin._

Phoibe scrunched up her face. "Yuck."

Kassandra laughed. "No love songs for you, huh?"

"I have you and Ikaros. I don't need anyone else."

Oh, to have a child's certainty.

Phoibe climbed to her feet. "Let's walk up the Akropolis."

Kassandra followed her lead, and their path wound through the stalls to where the market's edge joined the main promenade that circled the Akropolis. Then Phoibe stopped, suddenly, next to a blacksmith's stall, not a weaponsmith, but a smith of home goods, and Kassandra eyed his wares, doubting that Phoibe had any need for a new door hinge, or a pot stand.

Then she knew what had caught Phoibe's interest: a small dagger, tucked in with the skewers and spoons. It was no mere kitchen utensil, but a blade meant to pair with a sword, equally suitable for carving a roast or stabbing a thug.

"That's a soldier's belt dagger," she said quietly.

The smith drew closer, his eyes on the spear hilt peeking out from her shoulder. "Aye... misthios. Got it in trade for an oven and a couple of lamp holders of all things. Not my work, but a fine blade just the same."

"How much?"

"For you, a good price. Twenty-five drachmae."

Phoibe slumped as he said the number, but her eyes remained locked on the dagger. Kassandra reached down and gently squeezed her shoulder. "Walk with me," she said.

As soon as they left the smith's earshot, Phoibe was ready to make her case. "You said your mother gave you your spear when you were my age."

Children remembered what suited them most. "That's true."

"I know you think I'm too young, but I'll be careful. And I won't—"

"Phoibe, I didn't say no."

Phoibe closed her mouth and stared at her.

"It's your drachmae to spend. But if you buy that dagger, there are some things you should know."

"Things like...?"

"Wearing a blade is a statement."

"Like saying something?"

"Yes. And what do you think it says to others when you carry a blade?"

"Don't fu— I mean, don't mess with me."

"Sounds like a threat, doesn't it? If you say that to someone, you better be able to back it up."

"Hurt them, you mean."

"Or kill them."

"I don't want to kill anyone."

"That's a good thing." She looked Phoibe up and down. "Think you're gonna need to stab someone soon?" If so, she'd have to have a little chat with Aspasia about the kinds of errands she was sending Phoibe on.

"No, but I want to be ready for anything. Just in case."

"'Just in case.' What does Aspasia have you do, again?"

"It's not that. I deliver messages for her and look out for things. It's easy. It's just... I don't know anyone here, not like I know you. And you said you were my age when you came to Kephallonia..."

With nothing but her broken spear. In those early, chaotic days, the spear had been the center of everything. It had warded off bullies and other lowlifes, and shielded her from monsters in the dark. It was her statement to the world: whatever happened, she'd go down fighting with its wooden handle in her too-small hands.

So. She reached into her pouch where she kept her drachmae, and fished out a handful of coins. Not enough to pay for the dagger, but to cover the inevitable shortfall when Phoibe ran out of haggling tricks. She held it out to Phoibe. "It's your choice."

It took Phoibe longer than Kassandra expected to think about it. Her eyes searched Kassandra's face, looking for hints, and when she didn't find any, she took a deep breath, reached out, and took the coins.

"I'll be at that shrine over there," Kassandra called out after her.

Had she done the right thing, giving Phoibe that drachmae? She chewed at her lip as she sat down on a stone bench within the shrine's small grove of olive trees. A shrine to Athena, then. She could use some of the goddess's wisdom.

The leaves overhead rustled, casting dappled shadows upon her, shadows shaped like daggers, and she smiled grimly at her own preoccupation. Blades and daggers, and the first time her mother made her spar with her spear, the discussion of reach and balance that had turned into a discussion of intent, and of the messages that could be sent in something as subtle as a knife in its sheath, or the set of one's shoulders. _The way we carry ourselves tells something to the world, lamb._

Kassandra heard her mother's voice in her thoughts. She had not forgotten it, and her chest ached deep inside as if she'd been kicked. Like daydreams of what might have been, she'd buried those memories years ago, but now they kept surfacing and she couldn't seem to make them stop.

She stared at the shadow daggers waving across her knees for a long time, and then she heard running footsteps and looked up to see Phoibe returning with her prize.

"I got it!" Phoibe said breathlessly. Her face glowed with excitement.

"Let me see," Kassandra said, holding out her hand.

She pulled the dagger from its plain leather sheath. It was short, just the span of her hand from its point to the end of its handle, its blade sharpened on both edges. It was small for a hoplite's dagger. Perhaps it had been made for someone else, someone who hadn't needed to use it, for its guard and pommel were pristine, and the blade was too polished to have seen any action. She tested its edge against her thumbnail. Sharp as a physician's razor.

Phoibe was about to cross a threshold where she'd leave the fantasy of a child's toys behind, where the sharp and shiny playthings of heroes became real weapons that needed to be respected. A hard lesson, but necessary. Kassandra had learned it as a young girl in the training grounds of the agoge: the first blood she'd drawn with her spear had been her own.

"Blades are sacred to Ares," she said, "and a new one needs a blood offering." She set the point of the dagger against her left forearm, midway between her elbow and wrist. "A reminder of what they can do."

"No! Wait!" Phoibe clawed at her arm, trying to pull it away from the dagger. "I've seen you injured." Already-bandaged aftermaths and occasional fistfights, never a serious bloodletting. Despite Markos's foolishness and her tendency to run headlong into danger, they'd somehow managed to shield Phoibe from witnessing anything too bloody.

"Have you?" She pressed the point down, slicing into her own flesh. The blade was so sharp she hardly felt it. She closed her fist and bright red blood welled up in a line, pooling for a moment before running in rivulets down her arm.

Phoibe's eyes went wide and she stared at the blood as it dripped off Kassandra's arm and splattered in the dirt. "Does it hurt?"

"Not now, but it will later." An offering to Ares in the shrine of the goddess of war. Kassandra dug into a pouch on her belt and found a strip of clean cotton. She wiped the blade, then sheathed it and held it out to Phoibe hilt first. "Remember what this can do. And only draw it on someone if you intend to use it."

Phoibe took the dagger and stuck its sheath in her belt as Kassandra wrapped her arm with the cotton. The cut was clean; it wouldn't leave much of a scar. She fumbled with the ends of the cloth, and then Phoibe's quick hands were there, helping her tie off the knot.

"I won't forget," Phoibe said.

"Good." She patted Phoibe's shoulder. "Are you regretting your choice?"

"No." A clear-eyed answer.

"Keep the blade clean. Even your skin has oils that will stain the metal. I'll teach you to sharpen it later."

Phoibe stared silently at the bandage on Kassandra's arm.

"Hey, it's all right."

"I didn't expect that to happen."

"Such things always happen when you don't expect them." Kassandra stood up and held out her hand. "Now, let's see this Akropolis."

.oOo.

Much later, after they'd hiked up the hill, and craned their necks to look at the statue of Athena, and roamed the columns of the Parthenon; after they'd walked back down and ridden Phobos around the city; after they'd returned to the Adrestia and Helios had begun his final descent to the horizon, they stood at the railing at the edge of the deck, watching the gulls chase after scraps thrown by the crew.

"Can I see Ikaros?" Phoibe asked.

Kassandra almost called him out of habit, but her forearm was throbbing something fierce. "Call him."

"He'll come to me?"

Kassandra nodded. "He trusts you."

Phoibe closed her eyes and held out her arm.

"Open your eyes. Trust him."

The whistle Phoibe made was so uncannily close to her own that Kassandra blinked in surprise. She heard Ikaros flapping his wings somewhere behind her, then a faint brush of feathered wingtips as he swooped in to land on Phoibe's arm.

Phoibe's smile was huge. "I missed you, Ikaros," she said, stroking the top of his head as he chirped his pleasure at the attention.

"He's been so lazy since we've been in port." Kassandra reached out and scritched the feathers on his chest playfully. "Hasn't even brought me _one_ fish."

That earned her an indignant squawk.

"I'll never make you work," Phoibe whispered to him, and he tilted his head into her hand, playing favorites.

"Oh, I see how it is," Kassandra said, crossing her arms. "She's _yours_ now." Her attempt to keep up a serious face crumbled under Phoibe's delighted giggles and Ikaros's happy chittering, and she joined them in laughter. She could get used to a life like this. The realization was shocking — like drinking vinegar from a cup when she'd expected wine.

She always thought she'd die with her spear in her hand, trapped in a never-ending pursuit of more drachmae. _Once a mercenary, always a mercenary..._

This was a fork in the road: away from the well-trod, circular path she already knew, another tenuous path lay shrouded in fog, but at the end of it... oh, she didn't dare to dwell on those hopes for the family she had yet to find, and, in Phoibe, the family she had made.

A tug, then, on her chiton. Phoibe saying, "Kassandra? Are you all right?"

"Ah, yes."

"You have a weird look on your face."

"Just thinking, is all."

Phoibe studied her with an unsettled gaze, one Kassandra knew well, for it belonged to the rootless, living in their need to verify, and verify again, the things people said against what they actually did. And that need would not leave Phoibe until she'd found a home she could anchor her trust to. Maybe that home would be in Athens, or maybe one day, when it was safer, with Kassandra.

"Can I stay here tonight?" Phoibe asked suddenly.

"Of course," Kassandra said, and the fog around that tenuous path lightened a small amount.

Both of them clinging to a day neither wanted to end.


	10. In the Sanctuary of Lies

The night of her first death, it was the smell that led her to the bodies piled high at the foot of the cliff. Putrid and oppressive, it nearly forced her to her knees, and even the rain — a cold, hard rain that turned the stone around her an oily black — couldn't wash it out of the air. But she could not stop, not even to retch. She had to find them. Both of them.

She stumbled in the dark, threw her arms out and felt her hands sink into rotting ooze. She looked back at her feet and saw the cooling body of the Elder priest, his head cracked open across the rocks like a bloody egg.

Ahead of her, rain pooled in the upturned cup of an infant's skull. A flash of lightning turned the bone stark white against grey, followed moments later by a thunderclap that left her ears ringing with Zeus's anger. She scrambled on hands and knees across a table set with a feast for vultures, surrounded by stone and bones and those long dead.

But no Kassandra. No Alexios. She couldn't find them.

Her children. Her babies.

Her heart constricted in her chest, squeezing the life out of the hope that had driven her to search the bottom of the cliff. She couldn't find them. They were gone. They were—

Shouts in the distance. The Elders, looking for her after she'd torn herself from their grasping hands, away from them and away from Ni— _No._ Her mind put a blank where his name had been. The time to hate was later.

She almost missed the whimper, barely louder than the rain and the strangled beats of her heart. Where? Her eyes swept the dark rocks around her, the piles of white bones up ahead, and then the world went white with another lightning bolt and she saw a white shape in a jumbled nest of rib bones. Her heart boomed with the thunder, and she crawled to the bones and brushed her fingers against a blanket she had touched a thousand times.

Alexios. She drew his face to her cheek and felt a whisper of breath, but his skin was so, so cold and he hardly moved.

More shouting. Close now, along with the orange glow of torches.

Kassandra was here, somewhere on these stones, someplace in the dark, but if she stayed and kept looking, the Elders would find her and Alexios, and they'd kill him for sure. Lose one or lose both. Her choice to make.

She tucked Alexios against her bosom and hurried away from the cliff, and part of her soul left her body and died there on those dark stones, the part that had entwined itself around her daughter the moment she knew the gods had blessed her with a child. She had done the unforgivable by giving up on her daughter, and one day she would stand before the gods and answer for it.

The forest underbrush tore at her skirt, and she ducked her head under tree limbs and climbed over fallen trunks. Tree bark and branches scraped her skin but she didn't feel pain. She was soaked through but she didn't feel cold. The rain continued to fall in sheets, but the lightning storm faded along with the shouts of those who pursued her.

She didn't know how she made her way down from the mountain through that dark forest, only that there were lights in the distance ahead, and she recognized them as Pitana, the helot village on the far outskirts of Sparta.

Alexios did not stir, and he was still so cold that despite her fears of injuring him further, she paused and unwrapped him from his blanket and tucked him inside her dress next to her skin. No one in Sparta was skilled enough to help him, even if they were willing to disobey the Elders. The healers in Argolis were her only option, she realized, choking back despair as she calculated the distance. Days away by foot. Faster by horse, if she had one.

If. She set her jaw and moved as swiftly as she could across the muddy wheat fields that ringed the village, avoiding the huts and hovels until she reached the road to Sparta. She'd be safe on the roads as long as she stayed ahead of the messengers of the priests, but she could not risk running into any soldiers in the city. Her home was lost to her now. All she had left in the world was Alexios.

She kept moving, coming to the crossroads where the northern and eastern roads met. There was a kapeleion here, she knew, a squat building from which firelight and drunken laughter escaped. And just outside, a few horses picketed at the fence. She swallowed hard, straightened her shoulders, and walked up to a sturdy-looking gelding. Heart pounding, she untied his lead, swung herself onto the saddle with Alexios cradled against her, and rode off into the night. King Leonidas's daughter Myrrine, reduced to a common thief.

She rode the horse harder than she had any right to, until his flanks were coated in lather and he could no longer keep up a gallop, and as the sun rose, she stopped at the river on the border with Argolis and let him drink deep while she cradled Alexios in her arms.

He was dying.

She mounted the horse, urged him forward. The city of Argos up the road, help up ahead, and Alexios against her breast, so very, very, still.

.oOo.

It seemed to Kassandra that all roads in Argolis pointed to the clinic of Hippokrates of Argos, nestled as it was in the foothills above the city. The clouds wrapped the mountaintops in fluffy grey wool, and it had rained steadily all morning, foul weather leading to foul moods.

Raised voices greeted her at the clinic's doorstep. An older woman, sharply berating a young man. "Look, you insignificant peon. Tell me where he is, or by Hera I'll burn this clinic to the ground with you in it!"

He raised his hands, trying to placate her. "I already told you what I know."

"If Hippokrates thinks he can disrupt social order to make himself into a demigod of healing, perhaps the gods themselves will have their revenge." The woman took a step towards him, and Kassandra could see her arm coiling back, ready to strike.

Kassandra was already stepping into the frame. "Back away from the boy. Slowly," she said.

Now the woman's fury focused on her. "Who dares threaten the Priestess of Hera?"

"Me." Kassandra crossed her arms and moved in close, close enough to emphasize just how far down she had to look to stare into the woman's eyes. "Now step back."

The woman narrowed her eyes, zealot eyes that danced at the edge of madness, and for a moment Kassandra thought she might try something stupid. But then she drew herself up with wounded dignity and said to the young man, "It seems the gods wish me to grant you and your master another chance. Tell Hippokrates that if he doesn't make a public show of respect to the gods, I'll raise an army of believers against him. And if he can't think of a suitable offering, his head will do." Then she pushed her way between them and stormed off.

By the gods, were all priestesses of Hera like this?

"Thank Asklepios she's gone," the young man said. "I thought she was going to kill me this time."

"Who are you, and what was all that about?" Kassandra asked.

"I'm Sostratos," he said. "Chrysis has accused my master Hippokrates of impiety."

"Is he?"

"He believes that beyond praying, people can take their health into their own hands and make themselves well."

That seemed reasonable. After all, it was easier to stab someone with her spear than wait for one of Zeus's thunderbolts to strike them down for her. "Fascinating. Can I speak with him?"

"I'm sorry, he isn't here."

"Then where can I find him?"

"He's gone to Hera's Watch to help the sick there." She could find him if she traveled to the southeast and looked for the end of a long line of desperate people. And did she mind delivering these medical supplies that he'd forgotten in his haste?

When it came to finding her mother, nothing would ever be simple.

She tied the bag of supplies to the back of her saddle and mounted Phobos. Above her stretched woolly skies in every direction. It would be a cold, wet ride to Hera's Watch.

.oOo.

The first person Myrrine encountered in Argos took one look at Alexios and pointed her to Hippokrates's clinic, as did the second person, and the next. She had never been to Argos, and needed to keep asking the way through the blurry maze of houses and temples that surrounded her.

Right at the walnut tree. Left at the statue of Apollo. Follow the fence up the hill to the path through the laurel grove. She slumped forward, weary from riding all night, her horse valiantly keeping up a trot. He'd given her everything he could and still she asked for more.

They left the canopy of laurels and entered a cluster of low buildings with stucco walls, the grounds swept and tidy.

A young man emerged from the building at the sound of hoofbeats in the courtyard, his eyes widening as he caught sight of her. A golden pendant of a snake wrapped around a rod hung from his neck, the sign of the priests of Asklepios, and the last of her energy drained out of her as she realized she had made it to the clinic. She sagged bonelessly in the saddle, and he hurried to her, his hands gentle as he helped her to the ground.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

She held Alexios out to him. "My son," was all she could say before her throat closed around the rest of her words.

A glance at the infant in his arms was enough to cause him to hurry. "Come in, come in," he said, leading her into the building. A woman stood in the corner, tending a brazier. "Ortygia, take care of this woman, please." Then he retreated to a back room, carrying Alexios away from her sight.

Her heart raced and she slipped towards panic, but the woman suddenly appeared at her side, gently taking her by the elbow and preventing her from following him. "You're freezing," the woman said. "Come and sit."

Myrrine let herself be guided to a bench next to a burning brazier. Its warmth seemed far away. Her exhaustion made everything feel cold and distant, inert like a pile of ashes. She wanted to sleep and not wake up until Alexios was whole again.

She felt a warm cup being pressed into her hands. "Drink this." Hot wine and herbs. She sipped, tasting nothing. That wasn't right. Sipped again. Nothing. She could no longer trust her senses. The heat from the wine crawled down her chest and thawed something inside, and the meltwater began leaking from her. She closed her eyes against the tears. No. Not now.

After some time, Hippokrates emerged from the back room carrying Alexios, and she knew in an instant that he would not bring her good news. He knelt before her and placed a hand on her knee. "Your son..." His voice wavered, and he shook his head. "This is beyond my abilities as a healer."

She could die kneeling in the middle of a field of ashes, or she could dig, dig down into those cinders. She heard her own voice, steady as it said, "If you can't save him, tell me who can." Warmth under her hands, the smallest embers.

"He's too—"

Embers to flame, her voice raising. "Tell me who can!"

Her tone made him flinch. "The priests at the Sanctuary of Asklepios." He looked at her as if seeing her for the first time.

"How do I get there?"

He told her. Placed Alexios into her arms. Helped her to her feet, wrapped her in a blanket, and brought her to her horse. She took up the reins, turned the horse towards the road that led to the Sanctuary, and heard him call out behind her, "Gods be with you both."

Which gods? The ones who told the Oracle in Delphi that Alexios would bring about the downfall of Sparta, thus condemning him to be thrown from a cliff?

There were no gods left for her to trust.

.oOo.

Kassandra stared at the dead man in the cot and shook her head in frustration. All that effort in Fort Tiryns — sneaking past the soldiers, finding the garrison's physician, and bringing him back to Hippokrates — had amounted to nothing.

"I'm sorry for the delay, Hippokrates," Dymas said. "Kassandra helped me save my own patient first."

She'd had to choose: wait for Dymas to finish his surgery, or force him to come with her unwillingly. She'd decided to wait, and it had been the same as picking one life over another. Dymas's patient had survived. This man didn't.

"But why are you here?" Hippokrates asked. "I only needed my notes."

"They were burned in an attack, but fortunately, I have them memorized." Dymas tapped a finger against his temple. "And Kassandra insisted I come with her."

Hippokrates turned to her. "Did you kill anyone to bring Dymas here?"

Anyone? Did he mean the entire fort full of soldiers he'd asked her to sneak into? It took effort to keep her voice neutral. "No." She'd slipped past every sentry without any of them raising an alarm, and she'd done it as quickly as she could. It hadn't been enough.

Hippokrates rested a hand on Dymas's shoulder. "All of us are in the business of making tough decisions. You saved one soul today, and many others to come."

Dymas nodded. "If we're finished here, I'll write down what I remember of your notes."

Kassandra watched him hurry off, then said to Hippokrates, "I won't keep you from your work any longer, doctor. I'll go ask the priests at the Sanctuary about the woman I seek."

He gestured for her to follow and said, "Come with me. You've had a busy day."

They walked inside a large tent, its interior crowded with tables of medical equipment and racks of herbs. It smelled faintly of spices she couldn't place. A large bowl of fruit sat next to a pitcher of water, and he grabbed an apple off the top and tossed it to her. "The importance of diet to maintaining one's health cannot be overstated."

Kassandra looked at the apple in her hand. "What good can one apple really do?"

"Well, taken daily, they can keep the doctor away." The smile in his voice faded. "But on to more serious matters, like the reason you're here. You're looking for your mother."

She'd never been that specific when talking to him.

His gaze roamed across her face. "You have your mother's eyes," he explained.

"Ah." Her chest suddenly ached.

"I've never forgotten her face." He leaned back against a table and sighed. "I was young then, and I didn't have the skills to help her. I turned her away." He looked down at his hands. "I'd... given people bad news before. But your mother... She burned with determination when others would have collapsed into their grief. She shamed me."

"How?"

"Before I met her, I was just a priest. After, I swore to Apollo that I'd never turn away another patient — that I'd dedicate my life to learning everything I could about healing, even the things the other priests refused to try." He was silent for a moment, thinking of the past. "She had a strength about her that left an impression on me."

"She'd be happy to know that."

"I sent your mother to the Sanctuary of Asklepios. They'll have votive records of her visit, but you should try to get an audience with the Elder priest. Tell him I'll be sending him my notes on a new treatment for the sacred disease."

She bowed her head and clasped her hands together in gratitude. "Thank you for this, Hippokrates."

Her mother had spoken to this man, had been here and traveled these same roads, and for a brief moment she'd come to life in his telling. Hippokrates had brought Kassandra closer to her mother than anyone else had, just by remembering her.

.oOo.

The Sanctuary of Asklepios was less a refuge than a place where misery fed upon the living, who drifted like spirits within the shrines and buildings, caught between life and death. Myrrine was one of them now. She'd delivered Alexios into the care of the priests, had allowed herself to be bathed and fed, before being turned out to wander the Sanctuary's grounds until the priests brought her news.

She found a bench in a quiet corner near a fountain, away from the crowds on the walkways. The leaves of an olive tree shivered above her, and the Sanctuary swirled with nervous winds under grey skies. It had not yet begun to rain.

The people around her were silent as they dwelled in their own private worlds, and the fountain's lively waters poured into its basin, indifferent to them all. The basin was ringed by a grooved path worn deep into the stones. Heavy were the worries that burdened all those footsteps.

Every so often a priest would stop by to update her on Alexios's condition, and they spoke words she only half-heard, reassuring words meant to distract her from noticing that they never said he was getting better.

It was growing harder to keep her hope alive. Even embers ran out of fuel to burn eventually.

She paced the perimeter of the fountain's small square. The priests had placed large marble slabs around the edge, making a fence of sorts. Names were carved into the slabs: _Agestratus, whose head ached so severely it drove him to madness, cured by applying a poultice of a rooster's tail feathers; Euphanes, suffering from bloat, cured by sacrificing ten dice and his gambling habit on the temple altar._ Sometime soon, a priest would strike a mallet to his chisel and inscribe the names _Myrrine_ and _Alexios_ on the stone. She wondered what the words next to them would say.

Day turned to night, the moon hiding behind clouds that spat a fitful rain. She found herself alone next to the fountain. Most of the Sanctuary's visitors had retired to places she didn't know, and didn't care to. She had no need for a bed and no willingness to sleep.

Then she heard her name in the dark, spoken by a priest she didn't know. He was older than the others, and wore his pendant of Asklepios on a necklace of heavy gold. Mydon was his name, he said, and that he was sorry, deeply sorry — and his mouth kept moving and words came out but she didn't understand them. Words like "The fall was devastating..." and "There's nothing we can do..." and as long as she had hope, none of them would make any sense.

But he kept talking, and as he did, her hope faded to nothing, and she knew then what the priest was trying to tell her: Alexios was dead.

Then it felt as though her bones had turned to water, and she sank down to the ground as the last of the embers inside her went out. She broke into sobs, hunching over as they swept through her. "They're gone. They're both gone," she said between gasps, and then she cried out, her voice twisting into a dark howl.

The priest didn't move.

She sat there in the silence left after her wail. Inert like ashes.

Then she spoke to the stones beneath her, so worn with burdens. "Show me."

He helped her to her feet, let her lean on him as he guided her into the temple, past haggard young priests and a priestess, back to a room, and a table, and her son's motionless form.

The other part of her soul left her then. She had lost both Kassandra and Alexios, and only the barest of threads remained for the Fates to weave within her. No mother ever expected to outlive her children; their ghosts would pursue her like the Erinyes until the end of her days, but oh, she was too proud to go mad. She would exist, and she would be both alive and dead within the same body.

She picked Alexios up, cradled him in her arms, and began to sing him a song.

.oOo.

Kassandra arrived at the Sanctuary of Asklepios at dawn, under skies of broken slate streaked with red. Harbinger skies, and if she were back on the Adrestia, Barnabas would have taken one look at them and declared a storm was on its way.

The Sanctuary was nearly silent, save for the footsteps of priests hurrying to the temple, or abaton, or wherever else they needed to go across the expansive grounds. She caught one by his elbow as he tried to pass, but he looked at her, stammered, "I'm sorry Eagle Bearer, I can't help you," and scurried away.

Her reputation had apparently preceded her.

The next few priests said much the same thing, and she finally lost her temper with the last, dragging him into the shadows between two outbuildings before pinning him up against a wall with her forearm. "Who told you not to talk to me?" she demanded.

"Chrysis. She said it would be our heads if we talked to the Eagle Bearer."

Chrysis, the priestess she'd met in Argos. "How is it that she rules over the Sanctuary?"

His eyes widened. "She's the High Priestess of Hera in Argolis!"

So this Chrysis had power to go with her madness. "I need to see the Elder priest."

"Please, Eagle Bearer. She'll have me killed."

"Talk. Now."

"Find Mydon. He has quarters in the guesthouse. But good luck getting a word out of him — he no longer has a tongue."

She released him. "Go."

Priests without tongues and priestesses out for blood. This was a Sanctuary in name only, and time would tell how deep the sickness ran within it.

She returned to the walkway. It was warmer now, though the sun remained reluctant to come out, and when she breathed in, she smelled rain-damp soil and smoky incense. The grounds were more crowded, and a steady stream of horse-drawn carts wheeled past, carrying the ill and the infirm to the abaton and baths. White marble blocks lined the paved path on both sides, their smooth faces inscribed with names and treatments. Votive records, just as Hippokrates had said. But there were hundreds of these blocks, covered in thousands of names with no sense of organization. Finding her mother's name would take days.

She continued wandering, taking in the layout of the walkways, and the locations of the temples, shrines, and other buildings within the grounds. Her path took her from the Temple of Asklepios at the Sanctuary's core, to the outer edges, where the stone buildings were less worn and the trees were smaller and the marble blocks lining the path held fewer names and more blank spaces. Then she heard the sound of a chisel on stone, and followed it around a corner to its source.

An older priest stood at a marble block, carving another name into the Sanctuary's records. He pretended not to notice her, instead leaning close to his work and brushing stone dust away with his hand.

She stopped an armspan's distance away from him. She could pretend also, and she regarded the stone block in front of her without seeing. "If one wanted to find a particular name on these stones, how would they do it?" she mused.

"They'd have to ask a priest who keeps the records."

"A priest such as yourself?"

His fingers stilled on the carved letters. "There are countless records in this Sanctuary. Surely I'm too feeble to remember them all."

"It's a shame. I've traveled here a long way in search of my mother, and all I find are priests too afraid to talk to me."

"Times have changed, Eagle Bearer. It's..." He lowered his voice. "Chrysis. She says she'll kill anyone who helps you, and her threats are not idle."

"Just tell me where I can find the stone that holds the name _Myrrine of Sparta_. That's all I need."

He rested the point of his chisel against the stone and tapped it with the mallet. "Go to the grove of Artemis." He'd never looked at her once during their entire conversation.

She murmured her thanks, then left him to his work.

It was only a short walk to the grove of Artemis, its cypress trees an island of vibrant green among the skeletal ash and lindens in their winter sleep. In the summer, the cypress would smell of woody, heady spices, but winter's chill had buried it under the scents of damp earth and rotting leaves. The record stones jutted from the ground like a titan's teeth.

There were so many names. Here and there, entries caught her eye — _Amyntas of Makedonia, suffering from sword wounds, healed after being licked clean by a pack of dogs_ — but none with her mother's name, or even names bearing the inscription 'of Sparta'. It was a rare Spartan who would leave Lakonia for anything other than glory.

More names. More odd treatments: snakes and boars' tongues, bear fat and chicken feet. And then she found an inscription notable for what it was missing than what it actually said: _—of Sparta, with child, seeking pity from the gods—_ Someone had carved out the rest.

She was staring at the obliterated stone when she felt someone approaching from behind.

"It is as I feared, then." The stone-cutting priest.

"What is someone trying to hide?"

"I'll tell you. Myrrine of Sparta, who arrived filthy and bleeding from her travels. We cared for her, gave her food, a bath. The child... could not be saved, though we tried everything we could. Where she went after, I do not know."

_The child could not be saved._ After her encounters with Deimos, she begged to differ. Alexios was alive and unwell, and this priest was either a good liar, or believed the lie himself.

He went on. "I have something more for you. Meet me at sundown, near the Olive Tree of Herakles at the entrance of the Sanctuary."

Footsteps sounded on the path into the grove behind them, and she turned to find another priest walking towards them.

"And what do we have here, a priest and a mercenary having a chat?" His manner was friendly, but his eyes were cold.

The stone-cutter cowered under the other priest's gaze. "May the gods be with you, Pleistos! I was just on my way to the archives when she bumped into me."

"Is that so? Might I ask what were you discussing so fervently?"

Kassandra took the opening. "The good priest here was teaching me how to heal sword wounds."

"And what is the treatment for sword wounds according to my friend?"

"You use dogs to lick the wounds clean," she answered.

"Very good! Don't give away all our tricks, Timoxenos. Who will bring offerings to the gods when our patients learn to heal themselves?"

"No, no, of course not," Timoxenos stammered. "Now if you'll excuse me, I must get to the archives." He bowed, then hurried away. He had placed himself in a great deal of danger to seek her out.

"You have your treatment, Eagle Bearer. Now please leave the Sanctuary. We have nothing else for you here."

"A shame to find a place of healing so unwelcome," she said, giving him an exaggerated bow. "But it shall be as you ask."

The Sanctuary was no longer safe for her to travel openly, but there was much she could do from the shadows. The long night of winter would provide them to her soon enough. She returned to the stable where she'd picketed Phobos, mounted up, and disappeared into the forest.

A little before sundown, she watched the Olive Tree of Herakles in the evening light, waiting to see if Timoxenos would arrive as he'd promised.

She saw him walking up the road, and met him beneath the branches of the enormous tree. He pulled a piece of white fabric out from inside his robes.

"Your mother left a blanket behind. We tried to return it, but she said it was too painful a memory." He held it out. "Take it."

She did, and her hands shook as she beheld a blanket she hadn't seen in twenty years. White fabric had turned dirty grey, stained with streaks of rust and brown. She remembered her mother's fingers tucking that fabric around her baby brother the night the Elder priest and the guards came for them. "How did you get this?" she asked, as she folded the blanket and slid it carefully inside her armor.

"I took it from the archi—" His eyes suddenly widened as he spotted something behind her. "Oh, no."

She turned. It was the priest who'd threatened her earlier, Pleistos, along with a burly-looking guard.

"So, Chrysis was right," Pleistos said. "You knew the rules, Timoxenos. You will suffer her wrath."

Kassandra pushed Timoxenos against the tree. "Stay behind me," she said, shifting position so he stood between her and the tree's massive trunk. Keeping him alive would complicate matters.

Pleistos pulled a dagger from his belt, and the guard hefted a poleaxe. She drew her spear and launched it at the priest in one smooth movement. Risky, but her reward was the sound of a gurgled gasp that let her focus on charging the guard. His body was already twisting back into a swing.

The head of the poleaxe slid into view, and then she was inside its reach, with her sword held high. The handle of the axe slammed against her armor as she chopped down at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. The impact of the axe handle against her ribs stole her breath and dropped her to her knees, but the guard went down with her, his head flopping over at an unnatural angle. She pulled her sword clear, and staggered to her feet and over to Pleistos.

Her spear jutted out from the priest's throat, and as her fingers wrapped around its handle, the blood craving wrapped her in its pleasures. Her ribs no longer ached and she smiled down at the dying man and said, "You chose poorly," as she pulled the blade from his neck.

Timoxenos appeared at her shoulder. "They would have killed us both."

She nodded, only half-listening as she bent down and used the point of her spear to sweep the guard's cloak aside. His armor was heavy and angular, stamped with an insignia of twined snakes.

The Cult. The pieces were beginning to fit into place.

She turned to Timoxenos. "You're no longer safe here. Do you have someplace you can go?"

"This is the only home I have."

"Then go to Hippokrates's clinic, and wait there while I deal with Chrysis. But first, I need a favor."

"Name it."

"Which room in the guesthouse is Mydon's?"

"Mydon? He's well guarded!" He looked down at her bloody armor and weapons. "But you won't have any trouble, I suppose. His chambers are the largest in the back of the building."

She gave him her thanks, then looked back at the lights of the Sanctuary flickering in the twilight. It was only a matter of time before someone noticed the men she'd killed were missing and raised an alarm.

That could not happen before she found Mydon.

She stowed her sword and spear and broke into a run, heading for the forest, the blood on her skin drying slowly in the cold wind.

.oOo.

The guesthouse was guarded, as Timoxenos had said it would be, with two sentries at the main entrance, one at the side entrance, and one at the servants' entrance. All wearing bright armor with Cult insignias.

She climbed the wall that shielded the servants' entrance from sight, high enough to sneak a look. The guard she'd seen in the doorway earlier was no longer there, perhaps on patrol within the building, or off having a piss. No matter; it only made things easier. She levered herself over the edge and dropped down the other side, wincing as the landing jarred her ribs. She kept in a crouch and moved to the wall to the right of the door. Then she held her breath and listened.

Footsteps on tile. Heavy. A man's tread approaching the door.

Her fingers closed around a stone and she stood up slowly, flattening herself against the wall. Most people looked to the right when they passed through an open doorway; a distraction would ensure this man did.

She tossed the stone as the footsteps reached the threshold, heard the clack as it landed and a sudden indrawn breath, and then the man stepped through the doorway looking away from her. She was on him in an instant, her spear opening his throat and her weight forcing him to the ground to keep him from thrashing.

The servants' foyer was dark and silent. A doorway on the other side opened into an atrium. She could see no other halls. Every guestroom would open to the atrium directly.

She hid within the shadows in the foyer and looked out across the atrium. Benches covered with pillows, lit braziers, delicate vases. All the trappings of hospitality, except for the armed guard standing watch next to a set of ornate double doors. The atrium was too open, the angles too poor for her to sneak up on him. She could use her spear to kill him, but leaving any blood in the open would be risky. There was no way to tell if all the guests had returned to their rooms for the night.

Sounds at the main entrance, followed by movement, as a young servant woman walked into the atrium carrying a jug. She walked up to the guard, exchanged quiet words, and then Kassandra heard the sound of the doors opening.

That was all the distraction she needed. She came up behind him as he was closing the doors, and as he turned back around she chopped him hard across his throat with the edge of her hand. She caught him as he fell, covered his mouth with one hand and hooked her arm under him, and dragged him back through the servants' foyer, dumping him next to the other guard's body. The strangled choking sounds he made gave her pause, and she knifed him quickly in the throat. She'd shed no tears for Cultists, but asphyxiation was a hard way to go.

Her path back to the doors was clear, and she opened them and slipped inside.

She found the young woman and the old priest in the middle of an embrace, so distracted with themselves that they didn't notice her come out from the shadows and lean up against a nearby wall. She folded her arms and watched them kiss and paw at each other. At this rate, she'd end up seeing something she absolutely didn't want to.

She cleared her throat.

The woman whirled around. "Guards!"

Kassandra examined her bloody fingernails. "They're dead," she said simply. She looked at the priest. "And you must be Mydon."

He let out a disconcerting moan. So she'd been told at least one true thing while she'd been in the Sanctuary.

"He doesn't speak," the servant said. Apparently she was used to speaking for him.

"So I've heard. I'm here to find out why."

"Chrysis did this to him."

"I thought he did this to himself."

"To prove his loyalty to her!"

"Now why would Chrysis want an Elder priest to cut out his tongue?"

"Mydon is a caring, generous man!"

"I don't care what kind of man he is. And now I want answers from him, not you." She fixed her gaze upon him. "Do you remember Myrrine of Sparta, and the baby she brought here years ago?"

He nodded. _Yes._

"Did you save the baby?"

_No._

"Did she tell you where she was going after?"

_No._

She put together all the pieces she'd gathered. "I know why Chrysis made you cut out your tongue. The night my mater brought my brother here, you and your priests thought he was dead. And Chrysis didn't want you telling the story because she took the baby, didn't she? She made you cut out your tongue to hide the truth."

_Yes. Yes. Yes._

"Mydon told me how the Spartan woman wept. Held the baby in her arms, sang to him, before finally leaving him to the gods."

"But Chrysis took him instead. Where is she?"

"There's an altar and a small temple near the statue of Apollo Maleatas, up on the bluff overlooking the valley. People take their sick babies there to be healed."

Mydon's eyes glistened with tears, and he clasped his hands together, bowed his head, and tried to speak. None of it was understandable.

Kassandra was suddenly tired of this place and its desperation. "People come to this Sanctuary to be healed — but I come here and find people dying without hope, priests without tongues, and babies left with a madwoman."

She would cut out this sickness at its source.

.oOo.

It was a long, hard climb to the top of the bluff, and once she reached the altar that stood upon it, she smelled blood clotting in the cold breeze. Someone had killed a golden eagle and left it splayed across the top of the altar. It wasn't Ikaros, she knew, but the threat was close enough. The anger she'd kept sheathed within her since she arrived at the Sanctuary pulled itself free and lanced into her blood, bright and burning.

The clouds overhead looked as if a giant beast had riven them with its claws, and moonlight filtered through their torn edges. The wind jostled the dead eagle's feathers. She scanned the top of the bluff, looking for the temple.

She only found a worn path leading away from the altar into the forest.

Suddenly the breeze picked up, and brought with it the sound of a baby crying. Her mind knew it was a trap, but her heart accelerated anyway, and she started running up the path, following the sound.

Nyx had stolen the color from the forest, cut the trees into slashes of black and the underbrush to mottled granite. Beams of light slanted through the cutouts and sparkled in droplets of water scattered by her passage.

Her heart drummed in perfect, relentless time, and her breath came easily, fueling her long muscles to plant, and push, plant, and push as the path gently curved, and the forest thinned, and she saw orange specks of light bobbing in the far distance.

The path opened into a small clearing, and she felt the attackers before she saw them, twisting aside as a dark form dropped from the tree above her. A blade whipped past her ear and smashed into the armor across her left shoulder. Fire bloomed in the joint, shooting tendrils of pain up her neck and down into her chest. She dropped to the ground and rolled into the underbrush, heard the smack of metal against the dirt where she'd just been, and she kicked out, feeling her greave sink into meaty flesh.

She rolled again, then climbed to her feet with her spear in her good hand. There were two armored outlines in front of her, swords glinting, one with a shield and the other dual-wielding a dagger. She swapped her spear to her left hand, biting back a hiss as fire cascaded down her arm, and drew her sword with her right. Pain could be ignored, pushed aside. She'd let her anger fill its place.

She backpedaled, drawing them into the trees. Shield and Dagger. Shield was limping, and she edged around to his weak side, her senses open and ready. His sword-arm tensed, and she backpedaled another step, putting tree branches between her and Dagger and making Shield come to her. His sword sliced down in a silver arc and she raised her spear to meet it. Their blades clashed, and then she sank down instead of pushing back against him, letting his follow-through pull him off-balance above her as she swung her sword around and cut his legs out from under him.

The momentum from her swing lifted her upwards, and she bounced to her feet with her weapons raised in time to deflect a rapid series of sword and dagger strikes.

Her opponent was good. Disciplined. Moved like a woman, with a woman's fluid quickness. They traded attacks: quick, testing strikes. Kassandra kept moving, kept circling, and she could feel the winds shift around them as they moved between the trees. She sensed stillness behind her, and she stepped back, back, inviting the arc of the woman's sword, waiting for commitment to the swing. She ducked. The sword bit deep into the trunk of the tree, and Kassandra's spear sank deep into the woman's side, just above her belt. The woman died with a sigh, as if surprised by the sudden turn of events.

Kassandra took a few steadying breaths and let the warm wave of satisfaction lave the jagged edges of pain in her shoulder smooth. She'd been careless. She shook off the memory of metal whipping past her ear.

As her heartbeat settled and its pounding in her ears faded, she could hear the baby's cry louder than ever, coming from the temple that was now visible through the trees, its columns haloed in torchlight.

She kept her weapons unsheathed as she approached, and she paused before its heavy wooden doors. Stillness, but for the baby's desperate wails.

The doors opened reluctantly, and she ignored the flare of pain as she pushed them apart and stepped into the temple, breathing in the heavy scent of incense. The air felt strangely greasy.

A small marble altar sat at the back of the chamber, its surface strewn with dried flowers and a few scattered oil lamps. Behind the altar stood Chrysis, with the baby cradled in her arms. The priestess's eyes glittered as they lingered on Kassandra's bloody weapons.

"Killing seems to run in your bloodline, oh mighty Kassandra."

"Keep my name out of your mouth, snake."

"I still remember the night your mother brought me my child. So sad and pathetic, crying in the rain. Had I known then that Myrrine had two children... but, here you are. My family is complete."

"_Your_ family is built from lies. You let my mother believe her baby was dead."

"But he was. How she wept after his little heart stopped beating. But then _I_ took care of him. Placed him on this very altar. Screamed for the gods to spare his life. And they listened."

Kassandra took a step closer. "What did you do with my brother?"

"I saved his life. By teaching him to suffer. To know pain so well that he would learn to welcome it like an old friend. And now, he will teach all of the Greek world to know that pain."

"You... tortured a child?" Kassandra didn't want to believe what she was hearing, but it explained too much not to be true. Her fingers tightened around the handle of the spear, and white-hot pain seared within her shoulder.

"I taught him to survive! This world is cruel. It demands strength, or death. So I gave him strength." Chrysis rocked the baby in her arms. "That's something your weakling of a mother could never do. I let her crawl off to Korinth, but that's before I knew about your bloodline." Her eyes returned to Kassandra, looking at her hungrily. "But she can't hide forever. She will give us more children."

"I'll run my spear through your throat before that happens. And you'll pay for all the pain you've caused my family."

Chrysis threw back her head in laughter. "This _world_ is pain. I gave Deimos strength to cope while your mother whined to the gods like a pig on an altar. I'm more a mother to Deimos than she ever was. I can be a mother to you, too, Kassandra."

"You're insane. You bring nothing but suffering."

"You talk of suffering and yet look at you now, drenched in blood. How many did you kill just to come here?" Those mad, piercing eyes stared at her. "Tell me, Kassandra, do you enjoy it?"

For once, Kassandra had nothing to say.

Chrysis smiled benevolently. "You're a killer, just like your brother. Here, let me show you." She placed the baby on the altar, then swept the lamps to the floor before Kassandra could move.

The entire chamber went up in a fireball. Kassandra threw her arms in front of her face as the wave of heat enveloped her — and swirling out from that heat came great howls of laughter. The mad priestess meant for Kassandra to choose: the baby, or her vengeance.

She waded into the inferno, its hot teeth gnawing at her as she looked for the altar. She almost ran into it before she saw its outline through the smoky flames, and she scooped the baby into her arms and dashed out the back doors into fresh air.

Chrysis was long gone, as she'd expected, and she kept running until she felt grass under her feet and the heat from the burning temple faded to warmth. Then her legs gave out and she stumbled to her knees, barely able to hang on to the baby cradled in her good arm. The shawl she wore over her armor was singed and smoking. She lifted the baby closer, and tentatively pulled its wrapping away from its face.

The baby was a boy, and he looked as if he'd frozen solid, his eyes scrunched shut and his mouth wide, and for a moment Kassandra feared the worst. But then his eyes snapped open — eyes of wet, milky blue that drifted around without focus - and he took a breath, and then another. He began to wriggle, and then fuss. "Hey, little one. It's okay," she murmured.

Kassandra knelt there, scorched and aching in the moonlight, and she rocked the baby in her arms, and began to sing him a song.


	11. The Emissary

The city of Korinth was loud and dirty, and, if Phoibe thought about it, a little bit scary. Back in Athens, there were soldiers everywhere to keep the peace; but this place had no soldiers — just mean-looking thugs all over.

Phoibe sat on a stack of bricks in the agora. Aspasia once told her "a city runs on its market," so she'd come here first to get a feel for the place. The market stalls were full of wares, and both patrons and merchants looked like they had drachmae in their purses. But no one here seemed very happy. Even the musicians played one sad song after another.

Aspasia had sent her here to deliver a message to Anthousa. Anthousa was a hetaera, like Aspasia once was, which meant she was a prostitute who was paid to know a great many things, even if Phoibe didn't know exactly what all those things were. Anthousa's house was in the Porneion. Phoibe had figured out _that_ word meant a place where prostitutes lived. She'd learned a lot of new words while working for Aspasia. Some of them had come with explanations, but the rest Phoibe had to puzzle out for herself. If Kassandra were here, Phoibe could just ask her what it all meant, but Kassandra wasn't here. Not yet.

A buzzy feeling started up in Phoibe's chest, as if she'd swallowed a bee, or some other fluttery kind of bug, and she tugged at the bundle slung over her shoulder that held her clothes and other things she needed for the trip. There was another reason Aspasia had sent her to Korinth: to tell Anthousa that Kassandra would be arriving soon. That meant Phoibe would get to see Kassandra soon too. The buzzy feeling grew, until she couldn't sit still any longer. She jumped to her feet. She had to find Anthousa.

To do that, she'd have to ask for help, and she'd have to ask _carefully_. Adults were already wary enough of strangers, and she didn't want to add annoyance to their suspicion, or she'd never get any answers.

The first part of asking carefully was choosing the right person, so she wandered the market, keeping an eye out for someone who appeared nice but also wasn't in a hurry. The market wasn't even half the size of the one in Athens. There were so many chickens running around the stalls, and piles of pots everywhere. There were even chickens standing on top of pots. Then she saw a young woman selling baskets gently nudge a few hens away from her wares, and Phoibe knew then she'd found the right person.

The second part of asking carefully was being polite. Phoibe presented herself before the young woman and said, "Excuse me, which way is the Porneion?" _Kassandra_ never had to say "excuse me," but that was one of her powers. People who weren't made out of solid muscles, like Phoibe, had to resort to tricks like being polite if they needed something done.

The woman's brows came together. "Aren't you a little young to want to go there?" she asked.

"I'm supposed to deliver a message."

"Really." The woman didn't look convinced, but she lifted her arm and gestured to the east. "It's that way, just past the main road. But be careful, that place is crawling with the Monger's men."

The Monger. Phoibe didn't know who that was, but his name had that same scary-but-you-kinda-wanted-to-laugh-at-it feeling about it that the Cyclops's did. Of course, if anyone ever did laugh at the Monger's name, he'd probably kill them. This place was beginning to feel like Kephallonia, but richer.

"Thank you," she said, before setting out in the direction the woman had pointed. The market stalls ended at the road, which was wide and paved with stone. Then she got her first good look at the Porneion.

It was fancy. Really fancy, like Perikles's house in Athens. The buildings had three, or even four floors stacked on top of each other; and banners hung everywhere, from balconies and windows, pink ones with a Pegasus on them. She crossed the road, careful to stay out of the way of the roaming thugs, and took a seat near the entrance with the most people walking around. If she sat still and quiet, no one would pay her any mind.

The first thing she noticed was that a lot more men were coming and going from the Porneion than women, and most of them were leaving as quickly as they'd arrived.

"I only have eyes for the hetaerae, Stephanos," she overheard one man say to another as they walked past her on their way out. "I won't waste my time if Anthousa's taken them all with her."

Her heart sank. If Anthousa wasn't here, where was she?

She scratched the back of her neck. Anthousa was the most famous of the hetaerae, and the hetaerae were the best prostitutes in the Porneion, so Anthousa probably had the nicest house.

She half-walked, half-skipped around the outside wall of the Porneion. There were thugs standing watch at every entrance, but they ignored her as she passed, just a little girl at play. She studied the houses, until she found the largest one with the most beautiful garden.

She walked up to the entrance and peeked inside. An older woman stood in the foyer, sweeping old flower petals up from the mosaics on the floors.

Phoibe stepped inside and asked, "Excuse me, is this Anthousa's house?"

The woman paused her sweeping. "She's not here, child. And she took the hetaerae with her."

"Why?"

"You aren't from around here, are you?"

Phoibe shook her head no.

"It's the Monger," the woman whispered. "He's taken over the city, and now he wants the hetaerae and their money."

Phoibe started whispering, too. "I'm supposed to deliver her a message. Do you know where she is?"

The woman hesitated, and Phoibe thought she might not answer. But then she said, "Go up the road that leads to the Temple of Aphrodite, and look for the Spring of Peirene along the way. Someone there can help you."

The Temple of Aphrodite was on top of the Akrokorinth, the hill that rose high above the city. Getting there was a long and tiring walk up a steep and rocky road, and just when Phoibe started thinking about looking for a place to stop and rest, she spotted an oasis of green trees and graceful columns tucked into the side of the hill.

Her curiosity getting the best of her, she followed a path to the trees, and discovered they surrounded a spring and a small courtyard. Graceful forms glided within. At first, Phoibe thought they might be forest nymphs, but they turned out to be mortal women.

Phoibe had never seen so many women so beautiful. Their clothes were expensive, as fashionable as what the richest women in Athens wore, and they moved like dancers. Even their voices were pretty.

Surely these were the hetaerae.

One of them noticed Phoibe, and stepped away from the others to greet her. She had dark skin, and her eyes were bright and lively over sculpted cheekbones. "Is there something you're looking for, little one?" she asked.

"I'm here to deliver a message to Anthousa."

"A message from whom?"

"Aspasia."

The woman's eyes widened before she smiled. "A messenger from Aspasia is always welcome among the hetaerae. If you'll wait here, I'll see if Anthousa can see you now."

It wasn't long before the hetaera returned. "Please, come with me," she said.

Phoibe followed her to a set of stairs that seemed to disappear into the hillside. At the bottom was a large chamber, brightly lit with lamps and strewn with flower petals. A dark-haired woman in a red dress awaited them.

"Thank you," she said, dismissing the other hetaera, who bowed her head and left the room. "Damalis tells me you bring a message from Aspasia."

"Only if your name is Anthousa."

The woman laughed. "I am indeed Anthousa. And you are?"

"Phoibe... of Athens."

"Well met, Phoibe of Athens."

Phoibe pulled a small scroll sealed with wax from the pouch that hung at her belt and handed it over.

Anthousa opened the scroll. From the sounds she made as she read it, she was pleased by what she saw. She rolled up the scroll and smiled. "You've brought me hope, young Phoibe, that my Monger problem might soon be solved. Aspasia says you can tell me all about the mercenary they call the Eagle Bearer."

"_Her_ name is Kassandra. No one can beat her in combat, and her eagle came from Zeus himself."

Anthousa raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? She sounds formidable."

"She's the bravest person I know, and she'll help you... if you help her."

"A woman with a head for business, then. Do you know why she's coming here?"

Phoibe shook her head and said, "No." She only knew that Kassandra had spent the winter in Argolis. "She'll be here soon, though. Tomorrow, or the day after."

"Very well, we'll await the arrival of your Kassandra." Anthousa's eyes settled on the bundle slung across Phoibe's shoulder. "Have you a place to stay in Korinth?"

"Not yet."

"Then you shall stay with us. Let it never be said that Anthousa failed to offer hospitality to someone in Aspasia's employ." She swept her arm towards the back of the chamber, where Phoibe could see a slim doorway lit with torches.

"Now come. We'll make sure you feel at home... and then you can tell me all the news from Athens."

.oOo.

Phoibe was sitting in a tree near the city gate when she spotted Kassandra riding up the road from the Port of Kechries, just as Aspasia had predicted Kassandra would. That's what Aspasia did: she made what she called "informed predictions," and she hired people like Phoibe to watch and listen and tell her about the things they saw and heard. That information gave Aspasia the power to see the future.

It was afternoon already, and the sunlight was that shiny yellow of springtime that made everything feel green and new. From her perch in the tree, Phoibe watched Kassandra pull Phobos up to the stable and start haggling with the stablehand over the boarding fee.

What Phoibe wanted to do was to hop out of the tree and run over to them, but Anthousa had asked her not to tell Kassandra where the hetaerae were hiding. They wanted to see Kassandra at work before revealing themselves, and Phoibe only agreed because it meant _she'd_ also get to see Kassandra at work. She never had, not really, because Kassandra always made her stay home whenever it looked like the fighting might get bloody. Well, with the number of thugs in Korinth, there was a good chance Kassandra would end up using her spear on one of them, and that was something Phoibe had waited her whole life to see.

She followed Kassandra from a distance, not wanting to chance being seen, and she could only hope that Ikaros would keep her secret. She glanced at the sky, but saw only blue skies and one lonely, puffy cloud.

Even from far away, Kassandra stood out in a crowd, and Phoibe had an easy time tracking her. Kassandra was tall — taller than most men, even — and seemed even bigger now that she had started wearing armor. Phoibe still wasn't used to seeing her in it.

Kassandra _was_, like a mountain was. She towered over everything around her, as strong and hard as stone, and anyone who got in her way would merely bounce off her sides. Except she wasn't like that with Phoibe. She was softer, quicker to laugh and smile, more patient, more willing to teach, and only Phoibe got to see this Kassandra. It was Phoibe's secret to keep, because no one else could know Kassandra wasn't always the toughest person in the room.

Especially in places like this, as Kassandra walked alone into the Porneion. The eyes of all the men and Monger thugs were instantly upon her, but all of them kept their distance. Phoibe crouched down behind a high pile of pillows and watched Kassandra approach one of the women lounging in the pavilion.

"I'm looking for Anthousa. Know where I can find her?"

"Anthousa?" The woman stood and moved close to Kassandra, reaching out and trailing her hand from the center of Kassandra's chestplate down to her belt. "I could be anyone for you, misthios. I charge less than the hetaerae, but do I ever know my way around a hay-bed."

Phoibe wrinkled her nose. Part of her wanted to know what the woman meant, and another part of her really _didn't_.

"So her name means something to you," Kassandra said, ignoring the woman's touch.

"Anthousa? They say she and her girls all work as one, but Anthousa's special. She talks — they listen. And the last time she talked, they all went up to the Temple of Aphrodite with her." The woman tugged on Kassandra's belt and slid up against her. "Now, are you _sure_ you don't want a bit of fun? I haven't been with someone... skilled in forever."

Kassandra gently pulled herself from the woman's grasp, saying, "Not interested, sorry," with a smile at her lips that faded as soon as she turned away. Phoibe ducked behind the pillows and curled into a little ball so she wouldn't be seen. She waited several breaths, then peeked out over the edge. Kassandra was already on her way out of the Porneion.

Phoibe let her go. She'd beat Kassandra to the Temple of Aphrodite, because there was no way she was going to walk up that hill again when there were wagons to sneak rides on.

Back at the crossroads, she passed on wagons full of logs, bricks, wool, and flax. The best wagons were ones full of hay, like the one rolling by right now. She darted across the road, and when her hands hit the back of the wagon bed, she pulled up as hard as she could and swung herself over the side, sinking down as the hay swallowed her up. A little itchy, but the ride would be worth it.

There was a crack in the boards, and through it she could see behind the wagon: the dirt road, people trudging up and down the hill, and then, a flash of familiar crimson and gold.

Hidden inside the pile of hay, Phoibe waved and mouthed the words "bye, bye" at Kassandra as the wagon passed, then settled back for the trip up the hill. Even though Phoibe usually wished she was bigger — and she didn't even ask for _all_ of Kassandra's muscles, just most of them — sometimes it was worth being small for all the sneaky things it let her do.

Sometimes.

.oOo.

At the top of the Akrokorinth, Phoibe could see the entire world from the Temple of Aphrodite's altar. Down below was the city, then Athens in the distance, the islands beyond it, and the sea beyond that. The temple was big — not Parthenon big, but the view more than made up for it. There were flowers everywhere, and sculptures of men and women that looked like they'd come to life at any moment, which would be really interesting if it happened because their bodies were entwined in all sorts of embraces.

Sneaking a ride had given her such a head start on Kassandra that she had plenty of time to check out the grounds. She avoided the Monger thugs loitering on the temple's steps, and wandered under the flower-covered canopies along the edge of the grounds where the worshippers rested on rugs and pillows. The air had that temple smell: flowers and incense, this one heavy on the flowers. It made Phoibe want to sneeze.

Then she found some bushes in the corner of the temple courtyard that weren't too sharp and pokey, and she crawled inside them to watch the entrance and the canopies without being seen. She shifted a branch aside to keep it from digging into her thigh, then sat back to wait.

Waiting was what Phoibe did. She'd been waiting ever since she could remember. First she waited for her mater and pater until she realized they weren't ever coming back. Then she waited whenever Kassandra said "not until you're older." Now she waited for things to happen that Aspasia found interesting, and waiting for something to happen meant _someone else_ was in control of making that thing happen.

She wanted to make things happen for herself, like Kassandra and Aspasia did, like _adults_ did, so that instead of hiding in a bush, watching some thugs harass a pair of worshippers, she could be like Kassandra was now, striding up to the thugs and telling them, "No one's paying you anything."

The buzzy feeling in Phoibe's chest was back, and it grew as she watched Kassandra deck one of the thugs with a punch straight to his nose. Then Kassandra turned and faced the next one: a balding man wielding a wooden cudgel. Baldy swung wildly, and Kassandra sidestepped it and caught his arm, twisting it down savagely. Phoibe heard it snap, and winced.

Baldy cried out in pain and dropped the cudgel, only for Kassandra to catch it out of the air and clout the side of his head with it.

Phoibe's hands grasped at the branches in front of her, and she nearly tumbled out of the bushes. She sat back, one hand curling around the hilt of the dagger she wore at her belt. Knowing it was there was a comfort.

Two other thugs had been standing on the temple steps when the fight began, but now they drew their swords and charged at Kassandra. She stood there, tapping the end of the cudgel into her palm as she waited. Was she really going to fight them both with just a wooden stick?

The first thug was short and shrimpy looking, the second a big brute. The brute chopped his sword down, as if trying to split Kassandra like a piece of firewood, and she stepped aside and smashed his wrist with the cudgel before dodging a swing from the shrimpy one's sword. It was like Kassandra knew what the thugs were going to do before they did it. Perhaps she also had the power to make informed predictions, to know that she needed to duck under the brute's big fists before she could kick out his knee and slam the cudgel against his head as he fell, or that the shrimpy one was going to swing his sword _this way_ so if she dodged _that way_ she'd have a clear opening to hit him, _boom_ and _boom_, sending him off to dreamland along with his friend.

Then Kassandra stood alone, surrounded by unconscious bodies, and it had all happened so quickly that Phoibe only remembered her as a blur. Phoibe blew out the breath she'd been holding in relief, but she also felt a vague disappointment.

The worshippers Kassandra had saved from the thugs ran up to thank her, and they conversed too quietly for Phoibe to hear. Kassandra kept moving her left arm around as she talked, stretching out her shoulder. Maybe she'd injured it in the fight.

Kassandra kept the conversation brief, and whatever she'd learned was enough for her to turn around and start walking back down the hill instead of continuing to the temple. Hopefully she'd be heading for the Spring of Peirene.

If not, Phoibe was totally ready to cheat and tell her about it. She'd kept Anthousa's secret long enough.

.oOo.

Kassandra was already talking to Anthousa by the time Phoibe snuck up behind her and interrupted their conversation with a "Surprise!"

Kassandra turned around, her shoulders jerking back and her eyebrows raising. "Phoibe?" she said. She looked Phoibe over once, then checked again, her eyes full of questions.

"Aspasia sent me," Phoibe explained.

"But _here_? Korinth isn't safe."

"I had to tell Anthousa you were coming. Aspasia taught me a new word: 'emissary.' That's me."

"And now Kassandra and I have met," Anthousa said.

"See? This is easy. And now I can help you, Kassandra."

"There's a killer on the loose in a city with no morals to begin with," Kassandra said, frowning. "You can't just follow me around like in Kephallonia."

Phoibe blinked. This wasn't the reaction she'd expected. "I made it all the way here, didn't I?" A little bit of doubt began wriggling inside her, slippery like a fish.

At first, Kassandra didn't say anything. Then her lips turned up in a tiny smile. "Yes, you always find a way."

Anthousa touched Kassandra's forearm. "We need to move inside, Kassandra. We're not the only ones watching. Come with me, and we'll talk."

"Can I come?" Phoibe asked.

"As long as you're quiet," Kassandra said.

Anthousa led them both down the stairs into the chamber dug into the hillside. Once there, she turned and asked Kassandra, "To what do I owe your visit?"

"Alkibiades told me about you."

That made Anthousa laugh. "Did he? Go on."

"I'm looking for a woman from Sparta — a runaway, long ago. She may have gone by the name of Myrrine."

"Who's that?" Phoibe asked.

Kassandra turned to her, lowering her voice and speaking quickly: "She's my mother."

So Kassandra was searching for her _mother_ here in Korinth. "Is that why you left Kephallonia?"

Kassandra's voice sharpened with irritation. "What did I tell you about talking?"

Phoibe shrugged, but the fish in her belly did a little flip. She hadn't meant to be annoying. She looked at Kassandra again, closely this time, and saw dark smudges under Kassandra's eyes. She looked tired.

"I see," Anthousa said. "There will be time to respond to your question, but that time isn't now."

"That's not the answer I'm looking for," Kassandra said, crossing her arms.

"It's the only one you'll get until I've bargained a proper exchange. I've become quite the businesswoman, after all."

Phoibe wasn't sure if Anthousa could be trusted, and she didn't like her unhelpful response to Kassandra's question either. "You better be telling the truth. Kassandra can get _really_ mad."

Kassandra gave Phoibe a hard look. "Why don't you go play?" she said, in a fake-nice voice that she'd never used on Phoibe before. "Let me and Anthousa talk."

Kassandra wasn't just unhappy to see Phoibe — she didn't even want Phoibe around. Something squeezed Phoibe's heart painfully. "If you say so," she said, letting her defeat show in her slumping shoulders. Then she went and climbed up the steps, and her feet felt like they'd sunk in the sticky clay pits she'd seen all over town.

Something was definitely wrong with Kassandra. Maybe that's why Aspasia had sent her here, because she knew Kassandra needed Phoibe's help.

Phoibe kicked a pebble hard and watched it skitter across the courtyard. It made her feel better. So did thinking about ways she could help Kassandra without her knowing.

There were a few bushes around the courtyard big enough for her to hide in. It was time to get sneaky.

.oOo.

Phoibe had a plan.

It was a good plan, too. Anthousa had asked Kassandra to help one of her girls, Damalis, who had a client who'd gone bad. Timaios was his name, and he was asking too many questions and making threats. Kassandra was supposed to find out what his problem was.

Damalis had introduced Phoibe to Anthousa when she first arrived at the Spring. She was nice, and helping her would also help Kassandra.

Listening in on their conversation told Phoibe that Timaios's house was near the pottery district. And Phoibe already knew where that was. She could get there before Kassandra and do some spying. Check the place out and see what this Timaios was like.

The houses next to the pottery district were the rich part of town. Phoibe dressed the part: a nice embroidered tunic, necklace of polished stones, and tooled leather wraps around both wrists. Her coin pouch and dagger hung from her belt. She felt fancy. She felt like a real emissary.

Finding Timaios's house was as easy as asking the people walking around. It was a small, two story building near a fountain, and Phoibe found a nice hiding spot among some large pots under a window. She could hear Timaios inside, rummaging through his papers and muttering to himself, "If I don't get it tonight I'm a dead man."

More rustling. "Deinomenes better have that fucking deed."

She heard something metal strike against wood. "Pig farm. Always at the pig farm, he says. What does he do with those pigs? Fuck 'em?"

This man _was_ crazy.

She crawled out from behind the pots and ran up the walkway, not too far so she could see when Kassandra was coming. She ducked behind a tree and waited.

"Hey! Kassandra! Over here," she whispered as soon as she spotted her.

Startled, Kassandra's head turned instantly in her direction. Then she walked over and crouched next to Phoibe behind the tree.

"It's about time you showed up."

Kassandra shushed her. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard Damalis talking about her crazy client earlier and I wanted to help."

"What did I tell you about this place being dangerous?" Her voice held that hard edge again.

"I know, that's why I've been careful."

Kassandra sighed. "Well, you're here now. I suppose I could use you."

"See? That was my plan all along."

"I'm going to talk to this guy and see what he has to say."

"I've been here for a while. Spying. And I heard him mumbling to himself."

Kassandra raised an eyebrow.

Phoibe went on. "He's weird. But I can tell you what he said."

"Let's hear it then."

"Let me think..." She dug into her memories, trying to put his odd mutterings together. "He's supposed to meet someone called Deinomenes tonight at a pig farm. And he wants something called a deed from them. He's worried that if he doesn't get it, he's a dead man."

Kassandra put a hand on Phoibe's shoulder and smiled the first real smile Phoibe had seen her give since she'd gotten to Korinth. "That's good information. Thank you, Phoibe the spy."

Phoibe suddenly felt bright and glowy inside. Like someone had lit all the torches in a dark temple at once. "Not bad, huh?"

"Now it's time to act. Listen closely." Kassandra's hand was solid and heavy on Phoibe's shoulder. "You sneak inside and see what you can find in his house while I distract him."

"Quiet like a mouse."

"Good. But if you get caught, run. Right out the door. We'll meet here afterwards. Promise?"

Phoibe nodded. "I promise. Let's go."

They went to the house. Kassandra leaned up against the doorway and crossed her arms, waiting until Timaios noticed her. Phoibe crouched down and snuck around the corner of the house, until she reached an open window.

She heard his voice drift out from it as he spoke to Kassandra. "Do I know you?"

"No, but I know you, Timaios." Kassandra's voice was the one she used to sound dangerous, the one like a far-off thunderstorm, all dark and rumbly.

Phoibe lifted herself over the windowsill, slowly and silently, and dropped down on the other side.

Timaios had moved to the door, facing off with Kassandra. "If Myron sent you, tell him I was going to pay him back this very night!"

"No one sent me. We need to talk."

Phoibe glanced around the room. The furnishings were old and rather shabby. He didn't seem all that rich, actually. There was a writing desk against one wall, a long table in the center of the room, and a doorway in the back that led to other rooms and a set of stairs to the upper floor. She started with the writing desk.

The top of the desk was cluttered with papers, but Phoibe noticed a worn and creased letter poking out from the pile. She swiped it, along with a coin purse. She focused on being quick and silent, but still heard bits of conversation.

"How do you know that! What else do you have on me?" Timaios's voice trembled.

Kassandra ignored his question. "What do you think will happen if I keep you from meeting Deinomenes tonight?"

"What do you want from me?"

Phoibe's eyes swept over the long table. There were two lamps sitting on it, one at each end, along with a set of scales and an iron poker. Something about the iron poker scratched at her thoughts, and she picked it up and stuck it into her belt next to her dagger.

"Either I hurt Damalis, or I'm killed!"

"That's not love, it's weakness," Kassandra said.

Phoibe looked the room over one last time. A glint of metal caught her eye: something long and shiny leaning up against the corner. _Oooh..._ It was a sword, sharp and silver. Her hands were already full, but if she could take that prize...

She slipped the letter down the front of her tunic to keep it safe, then grabbed the sword and climbed up to the windowsill. The sword was heavy and she moved awkwardly. As she swung herself through the opening, she heard the blade of the sword knock against the window's frame, and she froze in panic. _Go!_ something shouted in her mind. She pitched herself over the edge, landing in a heap but somehow keeping the sword from clattering against the ground. Then she clambered to her feet and began running.

No one was shouting behind her, and once she'd reached the meeting spot she didn't see anyone either. She stood there, breathing heavily, her skin buzzing from her scalp down to her toes.

She was still breathing hard when Kassandra arrived a short while later. "You all right?" she asked.

Phoibe nodded.

"Let's see what you found."

Phoibe laid it all out on a nearby table: the iron poker, the coin purse, the sword, and the letter.

Kassandra stiffened. "I've seen that iron poker before."

A sudden realization hit Phoibe. "He didn't have a furnace in his house! So why does he have this?"

"It's not used for fire... It's a weapon. For torture. I saw someone use it in Phokis. Someone huge."

"Huge like the Monger?"

"Just like the Monger."

Phoibe nudged the coin purse with her finger. "He had this, but the rest of his things aren't very nice, though. If he's rich, why have all that junk?"

"He must have just gotten paid. Maybe he spends all his money on Damalis."

"I also found this sword and this letter." Phoibe pointed to one, then the other.

Kassandra seemed surprised by all the items on the table. "You've turned into a good thief."

Phoibe straightened herself up and squared her shoulders. "_Borrowing_ is just one of my many talents," she said in her best Kassandra voice.

Kassandra laughed, her voice rich and smoky, like the incense in the Temple of Athena that was Phoibe's favorite back in Athens. "Well then, Phoibe-of-many-talents, what does the letter say?"

She picked the letter up and waved it at Kassandra. "I haven't forgotten what you taught me," she said, as she unfolded the paper and began to read it. The words were ugly. She frowned. "It's mean. It says he'll get hurt if he keeps doing things wrong."

"I thought as much."

"There's more. It says he needs to bring Damalis to a place here in Korinth. There's directions. What do you think it is?"

"Don't know... But I'll find out." Kassandra took the letter and tucked it inside her belt pouch.

Phoibe bounced on her heels, ready to go. "I'll be right behind you."

"Not this time." Kassandra knelt, facing her. "Go to Damalis and wait for me there."

"Aww, please? I'll be careful!"

"Phoibe, I appreciate all you've done, but I need you to do what I say. This is one of the Monger's hideouts. It'll be dangerous, and I won't risk you."

Timaios's house had been dangerous, too. Phoibe crossed her arms sullenly. "Okay, fine."

"I'll come find you after," Kassandra said, and then she was gone, off to make something happen while Phoibe waited yet again.

Then Phoibe had a sneaky thought, and it got bigger and bigger, pushing her in the direction Kassandra went instead of the way back to Damalis.

She'd helped Kassandra once without her knowing today. She could do it again.

.oOo.

It was full dark when Kassandra finally scaled the wall that surrounded the Monger's house, and climbed up on its roof, and disappeared over the edge of a balcony on the second floor. Phoibe was stuck watching her from a hiding spot in some bushes outside the wall. She couldn't get any closer; guards watched the entrance and patrolled the grounds, and they looked even meaner than the thugs in the other parts of town.

The house was dark. Phoibe listened as hard as she could. At first, there were lots of footsteps pacing all around. But as time passed, Phoibe noticed that what had sounded like many footsteps began to dwindle, until there were only two distinct sets, and then one, and then none, and then the guard standing at the entrance abruptly turned around and left his post.

He never came back.

Then she heard pottery breaking, a sharp sound that cut through the darkness, and she took a chance, creeping out of the bushes to peek around the wall. The house's small courtyard was still and silent. Someone had lit a torch, and a pool of light spilled out from within the house. She slipped through the entrance and darted across the open, heading for the bushes beside the lit doorway, but before she could crawl into them, a hand grabbed her by the arm and pulled her off her feet.

"Gotcha!" said a man's voice.

Heart pounding, breath gasping, she had to decide: draw her dagger or don't. Her right arm hurt from the man's grip around it as he dragged her towards the torchlight. _Who had lit the torch?_ She'd have to use her weak hand to stab him, and she'd only have one chance to do it. _Who'd lit the torch?_ Gods, let it be Kassandra.

He tossed her through the doorway. "All right you little shit, who sent you?"

She landed hard on the floor and slid to a stop at a pair of feet. Greaves that didn't match, fabric in familiar crimson and grey. Kassandra. Phoibe scrambled around behind her, and in that instant she understood what miracles really were.

Kassandra looked down, her face unreadable. "Run. Now!" She was already reaching for her spear.

Phoibe launched herself at the doorway, dodging away from the man's lunging grasp, and then she was running, through the courtyard, onto the road, running until her chest burned fire, knowing that she'd handed Kassandra a mess of trouble to clean up behind her.

.oOo.

Phoibe expected Kassandra to yell. To be angry. It was almost worse that she didn't do either of those things.

They'd given Damalis the letter they'd taken from her client's house, and now it was just the two of them standing next to the Spring of Peirene.

She kicked her sandal against a crack in the stones. If she looked up, she'd see Kassandra wearing the same unreadable face she'd worn back at the house.

"Kassandra, I'm sorry."

Kassandra sat down heavily on the edge of the spring's basin, saying nothing. Her armor was dotted with dark spots, and a smudge remained on the back of her hand. Phoibe knew those dark spots in the torchlight would be red in the daylight.

She chewed at her lip. She didn't know what else to do in the silence.

It was a long time before Kassandra finally said, "So am I."

Phoibe stood there miserably.

"I know you want to help me—"

She nodded.

"—but I need to be able to trust you, and now I'm not so sure I can."

Tears tried to come out of Phoibe's eyes, but she squeezed her eyes tight until they went away.

Kassandra reached for her hand and gently pulled her closer. "Now you know how quickly things can go bad, even when you think you've got them under control."

"I didn't even see him."

"_I_ didn't either. Got all the other guards but him." Kassandra lifted Phoibe's chin with her fingers. "You're turning into a good spy and an even better thief. I can use that kind of help, but only if I can trust that you'll do what I tell you to — even if you don't agree."

"I will."

She brushed a stray bit of hair out of Phoibe's eyes. "I'm glad you're all right." Then she stood up, and said, "Good night, Phoibe," before walking off into the dark, leaving Phoibe alone with thoughts as many and scattered as the stars above.

.oOo.

It was easy for Phoibe to keep herself busy. The hetaerae had enough errands for her that after a couple of days of work, she'd collected a nice little pile of coin. She wasn't avoiding Kassandra, not exactly. She just didn't want to get in the way of whatever business Kassandra was plotting with Anthousa. Something about burning things in a warehouse, and making the Monger mad.

She'd just come back from a sunrise delivery to the Temple of Apollo when Anthousa herself approached her with a job. "Deliver these to the theatre," she said, handing Phoibe a bundle of scrolls. "We'll be hosting a show later today."

Phoibe peeked at one of the scrolls as soon as she could. It was a playbill. _The Monger has been a pox on Korinth for too long_, she read. _The Eagle Bearer will bring him to justice, here when Helios reaches his zenith..._

Kassandra wasn't just going to poke the monster, she was going to punch him in the nose. And then kill him.

The rest of the morning passed by so slowly Phoibe was sure the Monger had plotted with Helios to delay his doom. She was excited and nervous at the same time, and waiting just made her more excited and more nervous.

Phoibe still hadn't seen the Monger, but everyone she'd talked to used the same word to describe him: huge. Huge made Phoibe think of a man the size of a bull. Like the Minotaur. Could Kassandra kill a man like that? Thinking about it made Phoibe chew the side of her fingernail. Kassandra had killed the Cyclops, but no one had called him huge, and no one had said he was much of a fighter either. All these thoughts combined into one large, nervous thought.

She wished she knew where Kassandra was.

Word of the "show" spread fast after she'd delivered the scrolls. By the time the sun blazed high overhead, she came back to a theatre nearly full of people. She squeezed into a spot a few rows from the front, and watched the crowd wait restlessly for something to happen. Rich and poor alike had come to see the Monger die.

A murmur passed through the crowd; Kassandra had arrived, and Phoibe watched her stroll onto the stage with Anthousa. Kassandra didn't look nervous at all. She was wearing her _I-have-a-plan_ face, which was one of Phoibe's favorites. It made her look like one of the statues of heroes that lined the way to the Parthenon.

"_That's_ the Eagle Bearer?" she heard someone say behind her. "She's going to get fucking crushed by the Monger."

Phoibe pressed her lips together tightly to keep from telling them how wrong they were. Kassandra would show them soon enough.

Another murmur swept across the crowd, louder this time. The Monger was here. Phoibe craned her neck to get a look at him. He _was_ a lot bigger than Kassandra, but he was no Minotaur. She blew out a breath in relief.

He stomped into the theatre, flanked by two other warriors wearing shiny armor. He'd brought help? That felt like cheating to Phoibe, but Kassandra didn't seem to care.

The Monger wore no armor, probably so everyone could see all of his massive muscles. He didn't seem to have a neck. He raised a large mace, shaking it at Anthousa and the crowd. "You wanted a fucking show? I'll bring you a show!"

Kassandra stepped forward, her hand resting on the pommel of her sword. "I wanted you to see the face of every person you've wronged."

He pointed his mace at her. "I'll cover their faces with that precious blood of yours. Just like I shoulda done with Myrrine."

_That_ made Kassandra's eyes go wide, then narrow. "You... knew my mother?"

"I enjoyed squeezing my hand around her throat, but I'm gonna enjoy killing you even more. You're gonna die _slow_, bitch, and then I'm going to pay your mother back by bringing her your fucking head."

"Not if I bring her yours first." Her voice made Phoibe shiver.

Kassandra drew her sword and spear, and things happened all at once: Anthousa fled the stage, the Monger's guards raised their shields and charged at Kassandra, and the Monger pounded his chest and followed them into the fight.

The man to Kassandra's right rushed her, and she somehow tore his shield out of his hands, then threw it at the man to her left. He went sprawling while she turned back to face the first man and the Monger, then backpedaled to keep them both in front of her. She circled around, staying away from the big mace, and she blocked a swipe from the guard's sword before sticking him low in the belly with her spear. She kicked him free from it, hard, and he landed at the crowd's feet in front of where Phoibe was sitting, crying out in pain.

Phoibe had never heard anything like it: a tight, high-pitched wail that she felt behind her eyeballs and inside her teeth.

A shield flew into the crowd, turning its murmur into a gasp. People began to shout encouraging words. Kassandra was winning them over.

She'd worked herself around so she faced the remaining guard and the Monger at an angle. The Monger's mace swung down, but Kassandra was no longer there, and the crash of heavy iron against marble sent the sound of shattering stone echoing around the theater.

The guard swung his sword, and Kassandra used her spear to deflect it and create an opening to chop her own sword down into his neck, and the crowd noise rose like an ocean wave as everyone seemed to realize at the same time that Kassandra might actually be able to pull this off.

Only the Monger was left. He swung his mace. Again, Kassandra was one move ahead, and it missed. She let him chase her around the stage, and then she did something strange: she smiled.

He screamed curses at her. His mace missed again, crushing more stone, and Phoibe could hear him breathing heavily all the way from her seat. Kassandra's spear flashed out and opened up a cut on his chest. He swung. Missed. And she cut him again, and again.

Kassandra was playing with him, Phoibe realized, the way a lynx would play with a rat instead of killing it. The white marble stage turned pink, then darker shades of red, as she sliced him up with her spear. This was more blood than Phoibe had ever seen at once, and her stomach felt like it had been filled with the shards of marble left under the Monger's mace.

Once the Monger's entire upper half was covered in blood, Kassandra kicked his leg out from under him. He dropped to his knees with a bellow and swung wildly — a weak attempt she dodged easily. Then she raised her sword and chopped his hand off at the wrist, sending the mace crashing to the ground. But her sword never stopped, and she looped it back around and cut his other hand off in one smooth motion.

As the Monger stared at what used to be his hands, Phoibe's stomach twisted with a sharp jolt of pain that made her feel sick. Kassandra stuck the tip of her sword under his chin and forced him to look at her. "That was for touching my mother," she said.

All of the hetaerae were here now, and they gathered in a circle around Kassandra and the Monger. Each one held a dagger in her hands. Anthousa swept around the stage, holding her arms open wide. "People of Korinth!" she said. "Behold the weasel that steals your bread! The scourge that spoils your crops! Here is the justice you seek."

Kassandra stepped back, inviting them to the Monger with a sweep of her sword. "He's all yours," she said. Then she walked off the stage as the hetaerae closed in around him.

Phoibe couldn't watch any longer. She pushed her way along the row of seats as the crowd jumped to its feet, its roar growing and growing, and when she reached the steps at the row's end, she leapt off the side of the amphitheatre instead of running all the way down.

Though the drop wasn't far, she rolled to soften her landing anyway. But when she came to a stop, she found that she'd ended up right at Kassandra's feet.

Greaves that didn't match, covered in bloody streaks. Crimson and grey fabric, spattered with even more red. Kassandra, with a blade still in each hand, blood dripping from them onto the stone, _spat_, _spat_, _spat_, the sound of it loud in Phoibe's ears.

Phoibe looked up into eyes filled with rage. The word _volcanic_ shot through her thoughts. If she stared into the crater of the Foundry of Hephaistos it would be like staring into Kassandra's eyes: endless fires raging in the darkness.

Kassandra towered over her, and those eyes didn't change, didn't seem to _know_ her at all. Phoibe froze and felt her face go numb, then she scrambled away from Kassandra in panic, her sandals scraping against the stone walkway.

Then Kassandra blinked and said uncertainly, "Phoibe?"

Phoibe finally got her feet back under her, and then she did something she never thought she would ever do: she ran away from Kassandra.

.oOo.

The chambers where the hetaerae had hidden themselves were cold, despite all the rugs and blankets they'd brought in with them. Phoibe squeezed her arms against her knees and pulled the blanket around her tighter. She tried to imagine sunlight and summer winds instead of blood and stone.

But she'd run away from Kassandra, and all the thoughts inside her wanted to bounce around the question _why_.

One of the hetaerae poked her head inside the room. "Phoibe?" she said. "There's someone waiting for you at the Spring."

There was only one person it could be.

Kassandra sat on a bench at the edge of the courtyard, her hair and armor damp, her blades clean. She said nothing as Phoibe sat down beside her, and she stared blankly at the stones in front of her feet. Her skin was pale, as if she'd washed her own blood out when scrubbing off the Monger's. It made Phoibe think of the sad spirits in the Underworld who wandered the shores of the Styx, lost and alone.

She wondered if the shores of the Styx were this quiet.

This was a big kind of silence, the kind that grew deeper and deeper, and suddenly Phoibe felt like she'd been pulled under water and didn't know which way was up or down.

So she said, "You look so much different in armor," just to say something, and it was even mostly true.

Kassandra smiled a strained smile. "And you look different in Athenian finery."

She glanced down at herself and supposed she did look different enough. But she was still the same person despite the change of clothes. That meant Kassandra was still the same person inside her armor. But _something_ had changed since Phoibe had last seen Kassandra in Athens.

"What happened in Argolis?" she asked.

The corners of Kassandra's eyes tightened. She didn't answer immediately, instead taking a few moments before saying, "You're old enough to know the truth about me."

Phoibe didn't think that answered her question at all.

"What you saw at the theater wasn't what you expected, was it?"

"No." Kassandra's weird answers were making Phoibe's insides feel murky. "I didn't know blood could be that gross."

Kassandra rested her forearms on her knees and studied her hands. "Now you know what I do, Phoibe. What I am."

It wasn't news to Phoibe that Kassandra killed people. Kassandra had to be talking about something else. Phoibe's murky feelings got even murkier. "The Monger was evil. He _tortured_ people," she said, but then a memory from the depths poured into her mind and filled it with an image of a lynx playing with a rat. "Did you... like... killing him?"

Kassandra went still, not even breathing. Then she said, "I should have killed him quick. But I got angry."

"_He's_ the one who opened his big mouth. No one's gonna blame you for getting ragey."

Kassandra looked like she was going to say something, but turned to face Phoibe instead. "I'm sorry I scared you. Afterwards." The color was coming back to her skin.

"That wasn't you. Not really," Phoibe said. And just to make sure, Phoibe looked into her eyes: warm bronze, flecked with gold. Knowing and familiar.

Phoibe slid her arms around Kassandra and rested her cheek against Kassandra's armor. The metal under her skin was cold at first, but warmed the longer she stayed there. Kassandra's arm circled around her back, enfolding her in a feeling of safety she'd missed so much it made the corners of her eyes fill with stinging wetness. Then she closed her eyes against her tears, and imagined the heartbeat and the rise and fall of Kassandra's breath that she knew was there, but just couldn't feel.


	12. A Call to Paradise

Fifteen thousand drachmae. That was the price of the information Kassandra sought from the pirate queen, Xenia. After paying her crew's wages, and a shipwright to fix up the Adrestia after the beating she took in Keos, Kassandra only had 14,541 drachmae left to go.

Xenia knew she could name an astronomical price because Kassandra wasn't just some misthios who'd come crawling out from the backwaters anymore — she was Kassandra the Eagle Bearer now, and everyone in Greece knew her name after what she'd done in Korinth.

Killing the Monger had made her famous.

She no longer needed to look for jobs — jobs came looking for her. She'd already dismissed several messengers whose offers didn't pay well enough. Then Barnabas had handed her a letter that had put them on a course to Mykonos, where she now stood on a beach of fine, white sand, listening to him talk about the Silver Islands.

"Two sides of the same coin, these islands," he was saying. He pointed to the island on the other side of the channel. "That's Delos, sacred birthplace of Artemis and Apollo. And _this_," he said, throwing his arms out wide, "is Mykonos, where people do everything that's forbidden on Delos."

"Sounds like my kind of place—"

"I thought you might like it."

"—but the party will have to wait. There's work to be done."

He frowned slightly. "Gods forbid we enjoy a single moment on this glorious beach."

She'd enjoy nothing until she had 15,000 drachmae in her coffers and not a single coin less. "Read me the note again?"

"'Eagle-bearing misthios,' — that's you."

Kassandra rolled her eyes and made a _keep going_ gesture.

"'Podarkes, cruel leader of the Silver Islands, takes money from our pockets and food from our mouths. All to feed his in-sat... in-sat-i...'"

"Insatiable," she suggested. The writer of the letter was well educated.

"Yes! 'His insatiable thirst for power.'"

Kassandra already knew what the letter said, but she'd wanted him to read it, so he could see the crude map sketched after the words.

_We are a modest but fierce group of rebels, who'd pay you handsomely to help us overthrow our vile oppressor. I pray the winds guide you swiftly to our shores, misthios. Our people are dying._

_-Kyra_

"What do you know of the places marked on that map?" she asked.

He pulled the letter closer to his good eye, and studied the markings. "The first is a camp along the northeastern coast. That's easy to get to. The second... I'm not so sure. It's a hideout that looks like it's... underneath the city."

"It's time I met with this Kyra."

"I'll have the ship ready in case we need any... immediate departures."

Hopefully it wouldn't come to that — at least not before she'd had a chance to load the Adrestia up with some of the silver that gave these islands their name.

.oOo.

The entrance to the rebel hideout was hidden in the outskirts of Mykonos City. She'd needed to study the map closely to find the forested outcropping of rock and boulders that hid the crack leading to the hideout itself.

It was a near-perfect spot for a bunch of rebels to hide. It was also completely unguarded.

Kassandra slipped between the rocks, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The cave was cool and dry, and she shivered from the sudden drop in temperature after the muggy heat outside. Far below, she saw the yellow gleam of torchlight, and she began picking her way down a rickety set of wooden steps towards it.

She could hear laughter as she approached — and was that singing?

The path led to a large, brightly-lit chamber. Inside, a trio of men sat around a fire, drinking and singing. There were others as well, men and women, perhaps fifteen in total. None seemed sober enough to put up much of a fight.

She stepped into the torchlight at the chamber's entrance, and said, "I'm looking for the one called Kyra."

The men around the fire jumped up unsteadily and grabbed their spears. She could have killed every one of them if she wanted. Instead, she let them wave their spearpoints at her throat.

"I've come in response to a call for help," she said, saying every word slowly enough for even a drunk to understand.

There was a flash of silver, then the sound of a knife thunking deep into the wooden beam next to her head. The blade had come within a handspan of her nose.

Kassandra exhaled, expelling her rising irritation along with her breath. "You missed," she said flatly, her eyes following the knife's path back to its source.

What Kassandra found was a woman standing at a table a short distance away, one hand frozen in follow-through, the other tilting back an outsized cup to drain its contents into her mouth before she slammed the cup onto the table. She was slender, with the whipcord build of a hunter. Not particularly tall. Dark hair, dark eyes — defiant eyes that were not at all pleased to see a stranger intruding in her hideout.

And it was _her_ hideout, to be sure. She prowled towards Kassandra, moving with compact balance, and Kassandra thought of a lynx on the hunt, all slink and stretch and focused belief, until those great paws extended, and the claws came out...

"Are you here to spy, Athenian?" the woman said, coming to a stop just outside Kassandra's reach. "Or maybe you're Athena herself, dressed in a dirty disguise?"

"I came here to help a 'fierce group of rebels,' but all I've found is a bunch of drunks."

The woman narrowed her eyes. "Podarkes has spies everywhere. This is the first night we haven't been fighting for our lives in weeks... and suddenly, you show up."

Kassandra pulled the letter from the pouch at her belt and held it out. "This is why I'm here. It's your symbol, right?"

The woman flushed, a quick, hard bloom of color that shaded the lines of her cheekbones the color of wine. "_You're_ the Eagle Bearer? My apologies, misthios. These are dangerous times for anyone at war against the Athenian empire. I am Kyra."

"And I'm Kassandra."

"Kassandra," she repeated, as if tasting the sound of it. "They say you killed the Monger of Korinth... and that it wasn't even close."

"I did."

"Podarkes isn't nearly the fighter the Monger was, but he's been hiding like a coward behind an army of Athenian soldiers. We've never been able to get close enough without taking heavy casualties. This is why I sent for you."

"I came here to help you deal with one man, not go to war against an army."

"Which is why I sent word of our rebellion to Sparta, too."

A wise precaution. "And did Sparta answer your call for help?"

"Thaletas — one of their polemarchs — brought soldiers with him from Sparta, but he's lost many of his men. _I've_ lost many men. Podarkes has been hunting us down without mercy. We're all that's left of the resistance."

"Then you can start by telling me how many—"

She heard footsteps running down the wooden walkway behind her. Heavy steps, belonging to someone big. Kassandra turned, her hand reaching for her spear.

A burly man burst into the chamber. "Kyra," he said, hunching over as he caught his breath. "Thaletas and his men were ambushed on their way here. They need help."

"Podarkes, you bastard." Kyra looked about ready to leap into battle all by herself.

Kassandra held out a hand to stop her. "You and your rebels are too drunk to fight. Leave this to me."

"If you think I'm going to miss a chance to kill Athenians, you're the one who's drunk," she said, waving away Kassandra's hand as she walked past. She took a sword down from a nearby weapon rack, and swung it left and right as her feet naturally settled into a balanced stance. She'd be competent with it at very worst, and Kassandra's estimation of her rose. Satisfied with the weapon, Kyra nodded at the burly man and said, "Praxos, lead the way."

These rebels were about to show Kassandra what they could do.

.oOo.

Most of the rebels in the hideout were too drunk to swing a weapon without chopping off their own feet, but the handful that were sober enough ran swiftly through the forest on hidden trails they all seemed to know well.

Even that burly brute Praxos moved well for a man his size, and he led them up and over a ridgeline. As they crested the top, the forest cover abruptly stopped, like a green blanket sliding back to reveal a grassy, dun colored hillside that sloped down to the road in the valley below.

The road ran along the edge of another forest that covered the hillside opposite, and men were fighting in a grassy strip between the road and the trees. The Athenians must have attacked from the forest's cover, but the Spartans had held their own: the two sides were evenly matched. The chaotic sound of iron striking iron made Kassandra's blood surge, like a lodestone drawn to metal. She lengthened her strides, easily catching up to — and then passing — Praxos, and as she flew down the hillside, she felt a shadow at her shoulder. Kyra, matching her every step of the way.

Kassandra drew her sword as she came across two Athenians facing off with a lone Spartan, and she timed her arrival to match the Spartan's next attack. As he thrust his javelin at one Athenian, she swept through the other one and cut him down before he could swing his sword.

She kept moving, saw an Athenian kneeling over a fallen Spartan with his sword raised to strike, and she ran up behind him and grabbed him by his armor, dragging him backward and tossing him aside. She turned to finish him off, but Kyra was already there, her blade cutting across his throat.

Their eyes met, and Kassandra nodded once, quickly, one wolf acknowledging another before they rejoined the pack and the chase.

She drew her spear and went hunting.

A big Athenian wearing a helmet with a captain's crest pointed his axe at her and charged. She ducked under his first swing and jumped sideways to avoid his second, and she sliced his arm with her spear as his momentum carried him past. She faced him and waited. Jumped away from another swing. Waited again, trying to goad him into a downswing. Dodged again, and waited, infinitely patient. And when he finally swung his axe over his head and down, she turned sideways to avoid its chopping path and used her spear to pin down its shaft just long enough for her to swing her sword in a tight circle and bury it deep in his side.

She kicked him off her blade and scanned the field. The momentum had shifted in the rebels' favor, and the few remaining Athenians broke away from the fighting and began running for the trees.

"Let the cowards go!" A man's voice rang clear and commanding over the battlefield. Voices like his were as familiar as her spear. She'd heard similar voices countless times, in the training grounds, markets, and forums of Sparta, long ago. The cadence of a Spartan polemarch was like none other.

Kassandra searched for the voice's source, but it took no effort as Kyra led her eyes right to him. It was time for Kassandra to meet the Spartan commander.

Kyra ran up and clasped his arms in hers, and Kassandra had the sudden feeling of intruding into a private moment. She slowed her pace, then flicked the blood off her sword and spear before sliding them back into their sheaths. Better to approach with quiet blades, while his men stood around eyeing her warily.

The polemarch was covered in blood, dust, and bits of grass, and he was missing his helmet. His dark hair was braided in the style favored by Spartan soldiers, and his brow was prominent over fine features. Apparently Sparta had been busy stamping out copies of men like Stentor.

"You're alive," Kyra said to him.

"We took a few injuries, but none were killed, thanks to you." His hand lingered on Kyra's arm. Interesting. Seems he'd arrived on Mykonos and made himself right at home.

He turned to Kassandra. "You fight well. Spartan?"

"I was. But that was a long time ago," she said.

That caught Kyra's attention, and Kassandra felt herself being studied with renewed interest.

He grinned at Kassandra. "Spartan blood is eternal, stranger. What's your name?"

Kyra answered for her. "Thaletas, this is Kassandra. The misthios I told you about."

Something flickered within his eyes, and Kassandra wondered if her name had brought him an echo from the past as the rhythm of his voice had done to her. But he merely bowed his head with a formal stiffness and said, "They call me Thaletas. I was polemarch to the Spartans here."

"Was?" Kassandra asked.

"Our ship was sunk, and those who survived have been fighting ever since. There are only a few of us left." He sounded weary.

So these were the only remaining Spartans on Mykonos. There couldn't have been more than fifteen of them. Not even enough for a single row of a phalanx.

"I'm sorry for the loss of your brothers," she said.

He nodded. "As long as I can hold my spear, it'll be pointed straight at Podarkes. We'll find glory in vengeance."

"And I hope we can count on your blades, misthios," Kyra said.

They certainly couldn't count on pure numbers. Kassandra had seen maybe thirty fighters in total between the rebel and Spartan forces. Podarkes would have thirty men in a single outpost.

"My blades are yours," she said.

Could two blades and thirty rebels topple the leader of a nation? Kassandra was going to find out.

.oOo.

Later, after the Spartans had taken their wounded back to their camp, and everyone else had returned to the rebel hideout, Kassandra stood beside a large table, contemplating a large map of the Silver Islands while Kyra and Thaletas argued over what the rebellion should do next.

"How long till Podarkes finds us?" Thaletas said, stabbing his finger into the map. "We're right under his nose!"

"His nose is so high in the air, he couldn't find the Statue of Artemis if she hit him in the ass."

"We know where he lives. I say we knock down his door and run our spears through his face."

That would be a suicide mission. Kassandra rubbed her temple with her fingers, trying to keep her face from showing exactly what she thought of his suggestion.

Kyra threw her arms up. "That's a terrible plan."

"The Spartan phalanx is impenetrable in a ground assault."

"Not when there's only twelve of you!" Kyra said, sharply. Then she softened her tone. "You think with your heart — that's what I like about you. But you're a general to those men now. You need to think with your head."

Kassandra knew it was only a matter of time before one of them asked her to weigh in on the matter.

The polemarch's voice began to rise. "All you do is hide in caves and lurk in shadows. We didn't come here to hide. We came here to fight."

"And we will. But right now we're outnumbered. We must be strategic. Kassandra, what do you think we should do?"

The choice was obvious. "Kyra's right. Attacking Podarkes head on would be suicide."

Thaletas's fist hit the tabletop so hard it shook the flame out on one of the lamps resting on the map. "Sailing here was suicide. Right now, my men are on the beach. That's where I'll be."

"Thaletas, don't," Kyra said, reaching for him.

"When you decide you actually want to win this rebellion, come find me." He pushed her hands aside and stomped past her, heading for the exit.

Kassandra rolled her eyes and waved a dismissive hand after him. "Spartans."

Kyra looked at her. "You would know, I suppose." She shook her head and her lips curved into an amused smile. "But don't mind him. He'll feel better after he kicks something." She reached for the surviving lamp and used it to light the one that had gone out. The skin of her forearm stretched over fine bones and smooth muscle, and her hand wore the scars and callouses of an archer. She was definitely no servant or farm girl — someone had taught her long ago to draw a bow and swing a sword. It would be interesting to know who.

"How many men do you have now?" Kassandra asked.

She blew out a quick breath of frustration. "Twenty. Thaletas has twelve." Her hand swept over the map. "If we could somehow convince the people we had a chance at taking Podarkes out, more might join us."

"And Podarkes has hidden himself where?"

"Not hidden as much as fortified. He's holed up in his house, surrounded by guards. We've tried stealth. Poison. Everything has failed. He even brought in new slaves from Athens, ones with no ties to Mykonos..."

"So they'd be harder to persuade into helping an attack from the inside."

"Exactly." Kyra's eyes burned in the lamplight. "After our last attempt failed, he put every one of the servants to the sword."

Kassandra had seen enough cruelty to know that Podarkes was just one of its many faces. "We'll need to flush him out of his hole. Get him moving out into the open."

"Do you have any ideas?"

"A few. But I need some time to think on them."

"Don't take too long, misthios. Thaletas might try to beat you to it."

Clever, trying to pit her against Thaletas. "You and your men should get some rest tonight," she said. "Because tomorrow, we're going to get right to work."

.oOo.

Kassandra emerged onto the deck of the Adrestia just after sunrise. Night's cloak had faded to a chilly, pale blue light, and the crew was beginning to stir as the morning's watch arrived to take their posts. She paused next to a burning brazier on the deck, enjoying the brief moment of warmth against her skin.

Barnabas was standing at the top of the gangplank, directing the changeover in the watch. He looked surprised to see her.

"Leaving already? It's barely sunup."

"I've places to go, people to kill." She'd meant to say it as a joke, but her words had come out more bitterly than she'd intended.

He crossed his arms and blocked her path, fixing her with a hard look. "You've been running yourself into the ground since we left Athens."

"I took weeks off in Argolis." Long days and nights waiting for her shoulder to heal, her frustration growing every moment she wasn't moving forward towards her goal. And even worse, within that forced rest, within the quiet of her thoughts, she'd had to think about the question the mad priestess Chrysis had asked her about killing: _Do you enjoy it?_

Barnabas wasn't having any of her answer. "Only because your shoulder hurt so badly you couldn't draw your spear. And even then, you spent that time chasing down every lost goat and missing person in the country."

"Someone has to earn enough drachmae to pay _your_ crew."

"They're your crew too, Kassandra. They stay here because they want to work for you."

Kassandra had never given Chrysis an answer to her question; a lie by omission. Would the crew stay if they knew what she should have said? Would _Barnabas_ stay if he knew the answer should have been _yes_, that she did feel pleasure in killing, that it was beginning to feel so good she could hear it calling like a Siren even now?

A bitter taste rose in the back of her throat. She'd found only one thing that would calm the queasy feeling that kept trying to make a permanent home in her stomach. "I have to find her."

Barnabas's look softened. "I know. They know. The gods put you on the path to your mother, but at this rate, you're going to make a mistake and get yourself killed."

"You know why I can't rest on this." She'd given him only a rough outline of the Cult's plans, but it should have been enough for him to understand her priorities.

"She's alive." He said it the same way he talked about the gods, with a steadiness that allowed no doubt to creep in. "I can't imagine how she wouldn't be — if she's anything like you are, the Cult should be fearful of _her_."

If Kassandra humored him, maybe he'd let her pass. "Perhaps you're right... What do you suggest I do?"

"Get yourself a room at the inn and sleep someplace more quiet than the Adrestia. Go find a beautiful beach to look at." Then he grinned. "Or maybe a beautiful woman."

An image came to mind, unbidden: defiant eyes and fine-boned hands.

She asked him, suddenly, "What's it like being home again?"

"You remember!"

She shrugged off his surprise.

He held his arms out and took a deep breath. "I don't know yet. But just being here feels wonderful! Hopefully I'll get a chance to see all my old moorings again."

"You'll have to tell me which olive grove you were born in," she said.

"The most beautiful one, of course!"

She reached out and clasped his shoulder. "Take some time and see if it's as beautiful as you remember. And let's keep a skeleton crew on board. The rest can rotate through leave and enjoy the islands — and tell them I'll pay well for information if they hear anything interesting."

"Aye, aye," he said, just before he pulled her into a sudden hug. "I know you're humoring me, Kassandra," he said quietly into her ear. "But think on what I said. You look exhausted." Then he let her go, wandering away towards the helm.

He knew her well enough to be right. She could feel the weariness running up and down her bones, as if they'd been cracked open and filled with lead. But even if she did what he asked, and found someplace quiet and slept, it would be a fitful, anxious sleep filled with unsettling dreams. Better to keep moving, to keep dreams and thoughts at bay with her focus. Always forward, one step at a time.

.oOo.

Kassandra leaned against the akroteria on the peak of the Temple of Artemis, waiting for Kyra to arrive at the appointed hour after sunrise. The priestesses had finished their morning rituals; the scent of pine and burnt offerings wafted up from the temple's sanctum. Soon the walkways would fill with people as the city began to wake up.

It wasn't long before Kyra appeared, walking up the path with her familiar, compact glide and that hint of sway at her hips. She gave no sign of having seen Kassandra on the roof as she passed by, nor did she seem worried about being seen herself.

Once Kyra had disappeared up the curving path, Kassandra leapt off the roof, rolling as she landed. She'd discovered something during her time in Argolis: she could leap from great heights and land without injury — heights that would kill most mortals. She didn't know if this was a gift from her bloodline or from her spear, but she wasn't about to jump off a cliff without the spear to find out.

Either way, it explained one of her life's great mysteries: how she'd survived the fall from Mount Taygetos. She'd always thought it was because she'd landed in a rather large pile of corpses.

She walked up the path and found Kyra standing at a small overlook, gazing out over the city. In the distance, Kassandra could see waves glinting in the morning sunlight, making silvery cuts in a sea of pale, milky blue. The surrounding hills were cloaked in deep greens, with glossy palm fronds near the water gradually giving way to spiky pines in the higher reaches. This island wore all of its colors in full, gorgeous force.

"Podarkes has made it hard for me to travel openly," Kyra said as Kassandra approached, "but I still like to come here to remind myself of what I'm fighting for."

"I _was_ wondering about this as a meeting place," Kassandra said, gesturing around them.

Kyra turned to her. "Doubting my judgement already, misthios?"

"I'd call it curiosity more than doubt. You're the one who knows these islands."

"Most people are sympathetic to our cause, even if they don't want to involve themselves in it. It's the Athenians and their soldiers that worry me." She looked back out at the city. "Which is why I'm hoping you've brought some ideas with you."

"I have."

Kyra waited.

"You have your rebels. Thaletas has his Spartans. Together you're an unconventional army — the sort of army that needs unconventional tactics." She tapped a finger against her lips in thought, before asking, "How often do Athenian supply caravans leave Mykonos City?"

"Nearly every day. Food, mostly. Some supplies. The fort and outposts are already armed to the teeth."

"Know when the next run leaves?"

"No, but I can find out."

"Do that. And think about who among the people might need this food the most, because we're going to borrow it—"

Kyra raised an eyebrow.

"—and not give it back," Kassandra said with a smile.

"I like the way you think."

"Just wait till you see how I fight."

"I did, yesterday."

"That was just an appetizer... But I did appreciate getting to see your skill with a sword."

Kyra's flush was back, a light shading of rose across her cheekbones. It made her seem younger, and she must have known that it did, for she crossed her arms and said with irritation, "Did you think I wouldn't know how to swing a sword?" The youngling was showing her teeth.

"I didn't know what to think about my mysterious letter writer. You could have been anyone."

"And what do you think of 'your mysterious letter writer' now?"

"I'd like to know if I could beat her in a footrace."

Kyra laughed. "Is that it?"

"There's still time for more judgement."

"You'll get your footrace, I promise you that. But first, we clean out this caravan, and you can judge what you want from the bodies I'll leave behind."

"Then it sounds like we have a plan."

.oOo.

Kassandra sat at the top of an escarpment above the road to Miltiades Fort, hidden in a shadowed notch between boulders as she waited for the supply caravan. They'd brought only a handful of fighters, unwilling to risk the entirety of the rebel force, and though Kassandra couldn't see them, she knew there were men stationed at either end of the ridgeline. Kyra had concealed herself high in the rocks somewhere to the west, further down the road.

A shadow swooped across the face of the boulder next to Kassandra. Ikaros, flying just above her head. He let out a warning call, and his wings beat as he lifted himself higher before he banked in a turn towards the west. Her eyes followed the road to where it emerged from the forest, and she saw flocks of birds rising from the trees like smoke in swirling winds.

The first wagon appeared moments later. One soldier sat up front, driving a team of two plodding horses, while two more soldiers walked alongside. Eventually, five wagons rolled out of the forest; sixteen soldiers in total. The rebels were outnumbered nearly three to one. They'd wait for her to attack.

She bided her time with a statue's patience until the first wagon was below her, and then she leapt from the rocks onto the soldier driving it, ramming the spear through his neck and letting her momentum carry both of them off the seat and down to the ground, his body softening her landing. Her lips skinned back from her teeth into a wolf's grin as the world became clear and sharp, and the soldiers and horses around her began moving more and more slowly.

Horses ran past her; their lines had been cut in an attempt to keep the caravan from losing the wagons. Up ahead, soldiers fell one by one, arrow fletchings blooming in their throats. She could get used to this kind of help, Kyra clearing a path for her while she hunted the soldiers who'd taken cover behind their wagons.

She passed the second wagon, and saw a flash at the edge of the darkness beneath it. She froze, just in time for a spearhead to fly out, barely missing her thigh. She grabbed the spearshaft and yanked it back hard, dragging the soldier out into the open before she spun it out of his hands and pinned him to the earth.

Two more soldiers were crouched beside the third wagon. She drew her sword as they stood, slashed and parried their attacks, as an arrow bounced off one's helmet. Iron clashed. Her sword swept one man's blade aside while her spear found the weak spot between his chestplate and his belt, knowing it left her vulnerable to an attack from the other man. She spun around, her sword arm lifting to parry the strike she knew was already on its way — just in time to see an arrow punch through the man's throat. His eyes went wide, then he dropped to his knees, his sword falling from nerveless fingers.

Kassandra raised her spear and saluted the rocks above her in gratitude.

She cut her way through the soldiers at the fourth wagon, and when she reached the fifth, she saw that the pair of rebels stationed on that end had done their job.

The Athenians were dead. She stood in the road, basking in the warmth that had wrapped her in its silky embrace, as the blood of others dried on her hands and legs.

Kyra ran up to her, then quickly looked her up and down. "None of that's yours I hope," she said, nodding towards Kassandra's blood-spattered armor.

"Not a scratch on me. You?"

"My draw arm might be tired tomorrow, but it'll be worth it."

"Signal your contacts to take the wagons, and have your men strip the weapons and armor from the dead. We're taking it all with us. Let's move quickly, before the next patrol comes through."

From this point forward, no caravan would be as lightly guarded as this one, but they'd punched Podarkes in the nose, and reclaimed some of the food he'd stolen from his own people.

It was a small step forward worth celebrating.

.oOo.

Later that night, the hideout swirled with the spirits of celebration and libation. The rebels had claimed a small portion of the caravan's takings, along with a few jugs of wine. Now one of the rebels was seated in the corner, pounding out a complicated rhythm on a small drum, while the others had clumped together into small groups around the chamber.

Kassandra leaned up against a wooden pillar, sipping from a cup of wine. She'd gotten most of the blood out of her armor, and the cold stream-water she'd bathed in had chased the warmth and pleasure right out of her, leaving her numb and a touch queasy. The murderous craving was getting harder to fight, and where once she'd at least _try_ to knock out common soldiers like the caravan guards instead of killing them, today she hadn't even bothered.

She took a drink, and the wine seemed to taste vaguely of copper.

She'd seen the rebels at work, and now she tried to dispel her dark thoughts by watching them at play, hopefully without any blades being pointed in her direction. Praxos, Kyra's big lieutenant, was seated at a table along with two other men, all of them howling with laughter as he told some tale. The drummer tapped out a one-handed beat as she drank from her cup, before launching into a rhythm that spiraled out in variation after variation, all looping around a constant _thump_ like a heartbeat.

But it was Kyra her eyes kept wandering to, watching her work the room. She flew from group to group, a whirlwind of energy that left laughter and excited voices behind her as she passed. Her skill with sword and bow had earned her the respect of her men, but it was her attention that had won her their hearts.

Soon enough, Kyra's path around the chamber brought her near, and Kassandra found herself the target of that attention. "Lower your shield, Spartan," Kyra said as she approached. "Are all of you so damn serious all the time?"

Kassandra suddenly wanted to say _No_, she wasn't always like this. But after Argolis, she wasn't sure if this tendency to brood was her new normal or not. Better to give Kyra a safe answer instead. "It's been a long time since I've considered myself Spartan."

"Sounds like there's a story there."

"There is, but it's better suited for another time, I think."

"So mysterious," Kyra said, shading her voice darker to exaggerated effect.

"I think we're even in that regard."

That seemed to amuse her. "Oh? You have burning questions, misthios?"

"You could tell me how you ended up leading a rebellion."

Amusement turned into a scowl. "So I can justify my leadership to you, too?" How quickly her moods could shift, like spring weather: sunny one moment, stormy the next.

"That's not what I meant," Kassandra said. "Have I done something to make you think I doubt your abilities?"

Kyra studied her silently for a moment before saying, "No," along with an apologetic bow of her head. "I'm sorry. I'm just... used to having to prove myself, over and over again."

"You have the respect of your men. They'd follow you to Hades if you told them that's where the next battle would be."

"That didn't happen overnight. Even Thaletas needed to be... convinced."

"I'm not Thaletas."

"No, you're not." She looked thoughtful. "I imagine you've had to do similar convincing in your line of work."

"Sometimes. I'm just glad you haven't wanted to throw another blade at me."

Kassandra was beginning to enjoy making Kyra blush. This time, the color crept deep into her cheeks. "I know, I know. You came all this way, and I was cruel to you." She rotated her wine cup within her fingers, making its carvings of Pan and his retinue seem to dance. "But you _did_ show up out of nowhere. I mean, look at you."

Kassandra waited for further explanation.

"You came swaggering in, ready to take on Ares himself. And I thought: Oh, she could be trouble... And then you were — but for Podarkes. He has no idea what's coming for him, and now I have hope again."

"Good."

Kyra gestured around the cave. "You asked how I came to lead this rebellion. Podarkes executed my family when I was very little. I survived on the streets, raised by hunters, rogue warriors, and mercenaries like you. They're my family now. They took care of me, and now I'm taking care of them. And one day, I'll fire an arrow into Podarkes's black heart — payment for every Delian family he's destroyed." She drained the rest of her cup. "But enough about his evil, we should be celebrating tonight. Drink your wine, and I'll introduce you to everyone."

They did the rounds, Kassandra exchanging names and clasping arms and trading those nods common to warriors that meant _We may have seen the same things in battle, but we're not friends._ Like most fighters forced to work with mercenaries, they respected her blades but didn't trust her, which was fine by Kassandra. Trust was for leaders and commanders like Kyra. As long as the rebel fighters stayed out of Kassandra's way, they'd all get along just fine.

By the time they reached Praxos, he'd switched from telling tales to arm wrestling, and judging by the group gathered around the table he was putting on a show.

"He's always been the strongest," Kyra said, after he slammed another hand onto the tabletop. He hadn't even worked up a sweat.

But Kassandra had seen enough to want to have a go, and she said to Kyra, "Hold this?" as she handed over her wine cup and stepped up to the table.

"You wanna roll, misthios?" Praxos said, eyeing her from his seat.

She answered by sitting down across from him. She gripped the edge of the table with her left hand and rested her right elbow on the tabletop. His hand grabbed hers, a ham hand connected to a thick forearm and biceps that dwarfed her own. She'd have to move damn near perfectly to pull this off. The challenge made her grin.

One of the other rebels served as the referee, and he checked their hands, then began the countdown. "Tria... Dio... Ena... Go!"

The instant he gave the signal, she shot her hips forward and leaned back, pulling her hand up into a position of advantage over Praxos, and she turned her wrist, forcing his to bend back and negating his arm strength as she drove his hand down onto the table.

The man standing next to her clapped his hand on her shoulder. "By Zeus! I should have put money on you, Eagle Bearer."

Praxos extended his arm. "Good match, misthios. I'll be wanting another chance at you once I figure out how the Hades you did that."

She shook on it and said, "Anytime."

Kyra was staring at her. "That wasn't just brute strength," she said, handing Kassandra back her cup of wine. "Show me how you did it."

"Let's find a table, then."

Kyra led her to a table deeper within the cave, away from the commotion and bustle of the celebration. They sat down.

"Square up to the table," Kassandra said.

Kyra turned and aligned her body with the table's edge.

Kassandra rested her elbow on the tabletop. "Now take my hand."

They clasped hands, and the touch of Kyra's skin sent a jolt arrowing through her. It was like the first time she'd ever held her spear: the sudden rush of delighted wonder at the feeling of power hidden within it. The bones of Kyra's hands may have been fine and slender, but the muscles wrapped around them were surprisingly strong.

Kyra was studying Kassandra now, her dark eyes focused as her gaze swept over Kassandra's cheekbones and down her jaw. She seemed on the verge of saying something.

Kassandra cleared her throat. "This trick is all about leverage, about getting your hand into position on top."

"On top," Kyra repeated. Was that amusement glinting in her eyes?

"So what you have to do is drive your hips forward" — Kyra's fingers twitched in Kassandra's grip — "and lean your shoulders back as soon as you hear the signal to go. This'll pull your hand back over your opponent's."

Oh yes, Kyra was definitely amused, and Kassandra couldn't help but grin rakishly as she slowly demonstrated the moves one at a time.

"And what happens when I'm on top?" Kyra asked with practiced innocence.

"Victory will be close at hand." Kassandra suddenly twisted her grip, bending Kyra's wrist back and breaking her strength, before she forced Kyra's hand to the tabletop.

Kyra shook out her wrist, then plunked her elbow back on the table. "Let me try."

They clasped hands once again, and Kassandra felt a sudden flush of desire as their skin touched. The desire wasn't the surprise — the surprise was how _good_ it felt, how it made her feel normal again, if only for a moment. The part of her that knew better understood there was something going on between Kyra and Thaletas, that she should tread carefully, that she needed to learn more about Kyra before she could interpret the signals Kyra was sending off.

There was another part of her that didn't care about any of that.

But she managed to contain herself the rest of the evening, aside from some mild flirting, and when the oil lamps began to run out along with the wine, she excused herself despite Kyra's attempts to get her to stay in one of the hideout's spare bunks.

She stepped out into the moonlight, a cool breeze rustling the tops of the palm trees and tugging at her braid, and gazed out over the forested hills.

It was a bad idea to mix business with pleasure in a situation as volatile as this one, but she wasn't sure she was going to be able to stop herself. Especially after she'd spent an evening feeling normal again for the first time in months. And what had Barnabas said about finding a beautiful woman?

Kassandra certainly had.

She took a deep breath that held the scent of flowers, and smiled.


	13. The Puzzle in the Wanting

Kassandra threw the ladder over the edge of the Adrestia's deck as a felucca glided alongside, and she held her torch out over dark waters, casting flickers of orange light upon the smaller boat's sail and decking as shadowed figures moved below. The moon hovered at the horizon, lighting a path across the waves so radiant and inviting it seemed like they all could have stepped upon it and walked straight to Delos.

It would have been an easier trip, to be sure, instead of slipping away from port in the darkness and sailing to a cove where Kyra could meet them. Kassandra had tried to persuade her not to come to Delos at all; after their successful raid on the supply caravan, Podarkes had doubled the price on Kyra's head, and it would have been safer for her to stay out of sight on Mykonos. But "safe" wasn't a word Kyra thought much of, and once Kassandra had revealed her intention to take out the weapons stash on Delos by herself, Kyra had rolled her eyes and said, "I'm going with you. It'll be _safer_ if someone watched your back."

Down below, one of the shadows stepped up onto the ladder and began climbing. The felucca turned and headed back for shore. Then Kyra emerged into the torchlight, and Kassandra took her hand and helped her find her footing on the Adrestia's deck.

Kyra had come ready to fight, with her bow and quiver slung across her body and a xiphos sheathed at her waist. She'd tied the sleeves back on her chiton, exposing her shoulders and the long smooth muscles of her arms.

Kassandra smiled and said, "Welcome aboard," as she slid the torch into a holder on the rail beside her and Barnabas came over to join them. Kyra's skin was cool against her own, and Kassandra allowed herself to enjoy how it felt, just for a moment, before she let go. "Kyra, this is Barnabas, Captain of the Adrestia. Barnabas, Kyra."

"It's a pleasure," Barnabas said, extending his hand.

They clasped arms in greeting, while Kassandra bent down and began pulling up the ladder.

"Thanks for the ride, Captain. I've always hated swimming to Delos." Kyra said it breezily enough that Kassandra couldn't tell if she was being serious or not.

"Aye, it's dangerous," he said. "Especially with the 'maw lurking beneath the waves."

"Don't go swimming when Sharpmaw's around, because he'll bite your foot off—"

"—and come back for seconds," they said in unison, before breaking into laughter over their shared joke.

"You're from Mykonos," Kyra said.

"Yes, and they've been telling that story since I was a boy."

"You know, I've lived here all my life and I've never seen Sharpmaw once."

"And I've never seen Zeus, but that doesn't mean he doesn't exist. Like the gods — or like love, I suppose — he'll show up when you least expect it."

"A philosopher as well as a sea captain. Does the Eagle Bearer pick all her companions so wisely?"

At that moment, Gelon's voice snapped loudly across the deck: "For fuck's sake, boys, when I said _row_, I meant more than one stroke a year."

"No," Kassandra said in answer to Kyra's question.

Gelon swooped past them on her way to the fore of the ship, saying over her shoulder, "Sorry, Commander. Apparently all that beach time left the crew too tired to row."

Kassandra waved a hand after Gelon's disappearing form. "And that's Gelon, the Adrestia's first mate."

"She's an excellent sailor," Barnabas said, "But even her curses know how to curse."

"I was fortunate to run into Barnabas when I did," Kassandra said.

"But it was _I_ who was the most fortunate, because at the time, a terrible criminal was trying to drown me in a pot of water, until _she_ showed up..." He loved telling this story, and he gently guided Kyra back towards the ship's helm as he dove into the tale.

Kassandra wandered to the fore of the ship and found Gelon shouting down the hatch that led below decks. Then Gelon spotted her, slammed the hatch shut, and stood up to meet her. "So that's the infamous Kyra."

Kassandra handed her the rolled-up ladder. "In the flesh."

Gelon let out a low whistle. "You know how to pick 'em."

"What are you getting at?"

"I've got two good eyes and my blood's as red as yours. You know what the fuck I'm talking about."

"Too bad she's already taken," Kassandra said, ignoring Gelon's skeptical look. "How long till we drop anchor?"

Gelon lifted her face to the sky and studied the constellation of the turning wagon. "An hour. Maybe two if the currents suck."

"Good. Let me know when we reach the inlet." Kyra's contacts on Delos would be waiting for them. The Adrestia would send a signal, and the rebels on Delos would send over a boat.

Barnabas was still telling his story when Kassandra rejoined them at the helm's upper railing. "...and she took his precious obsidian eye, and stuck it up the goat's ass! The poor thing ran off like a harpy was after it."

Kyra looked at her. "You didn't."

"I put his eye where it belonged," she said with a shrug.

"Not only that... She told the Cyclops if he wanted it back, he should get it himself."

"What did he do then?" Kyra asked.

"He wasn't happy, I'll tell you that!" Barnabas said. "He pulled out this huge mace, and his men drew their swords. And she just stood there, her armor shining in the sun like she'd been blessed by the gods..."

"My armor was shiny because it was new — I'd just gotten it."

"Blessed by Apollo to deliver his shining justice, she was. And when this bunch of thugs ran at her with murder in their eyes, she just _stood_ there, looking bored."

"I was trying to draw them away from you, since you didn't seem interested in running for safety."

"And leave my front row seat? The gods had never answered my prayers so... directly before, and I wanted to experience the moment!" He peered at Kassandra, reliving the memory. "Then she finally drew her sword and that spear of hers, and... I swear to the gods... she fought like Achilles reborn."

"I thought four against one were pretty good odds." Kyra didn't need to know her opponents in this particular scrap were three terrible swordsmen and one muscle-bound lunkhead who moved about as fast as a boulder lodged in a hillside.

Barnabas's voice seemed to stretch under the weight of his awe. "It was the way she moved — faster than any warrior I've ever seen, and I've seen my share of battles. She cut those thugs to pieces, and made it look easy."

"I believe it," Kyra said.

"Kassandra saved my life. So I offered her the use of my ship, and my services as captain." He smiled slyly and winked at Kyra. "The fact that I get to watch a gods' blessed hero at work is just a bonus."

Blessings could be so close to curses, but Kassandra would never tell him that. "I got a ship _and_ a friend out of that deal."

"Yes! The gods smiled upon us both!" he said with a grin. "And I hope they keep smiling — we're coming up on the southern point." He shifted his gaze to Delos, a dark shape against the sky dotted with motes of light. "You'll have to excuse me, it's my turn to take up the helm and keep us off those rocks."

Kyra leaned back against the rail and watched him hurry away. "How long have you known each other?"

"A year."

"That's all? You were on Kephallonia a long time, then."

"Close to twenty years."

"What made you leave?"

"Someone offered me a job. It was a way off the island, and I was more than ready to go."

Kyra's brow creased with delicate lines, as she tried to figure out where these tiny pieces fit within the thread the Fates had woven for Kassandra. "What did your family think of you leaving?"

Kassandra didn't get a chance to answer, as a whistle sounded from the foredeck, followed shortly by Gelon bounding up the stairs to the helm. "The lookout spotted an Athenian sentry boat. We could go the long way 'round, or turn the lights out and slip by."

She looked for the moon, and found it a sliver above the horizon. The moonpath that had once seemed so substantial had become a small pool of quicksilver that shrank the longer she looked at it. Soon the only light would be the ones shining on Delos, and the smaller specks on the islands in the distance that blended in with the stars. "Lights out and quiet, then," she said to Gelon, before turning back to Kyra. "I'm afraid the answer to your question will have to wait."

"Yet another reason for me to curse the Athenians," Kyra said, a half-smile at her lips. Then she turned away from Delos and faced the sea and its enigmatic darkness, and as Kassandra followed Gelon to the foredeck, she wondered how long that list of reasons would be if Kyra were to write them all down.

.oOo.

"So, what's the plan?" Kyra whispered. "Other than pretending to be tree nymphs."

They were hidden in a thick stand of bushes outside the Athenian camp, the sky above them just beginning to glow. Dawn would arrive soon, and the soldiers asleep in their tents would stir along with it.

"I thought you were the strategic thinker."

Kyra turned to her, and even in this light Kassandra could see her roll her eyes. "Shoot the sentries, stab the sleepers."

"Very catchy. But let me have the sentry with the torch."

Kyra merely nodded and drew an arrow from her quiver.

The Athenians had built the camp within an ancient ruin, at the end of a road gouged with wagon ruts and pocked with hoofprints. The sentry with a torch stood watch at the entrance to the camp, where the road ended at a gap between the ruin's crumbling outer walls. There were two more sentries at the camp's back corners. A total of three sentries to watch over an unknown number of soldiers sleeping in the tents. Light security for a place so important, but then again, this was Delos, where spilling blood was illegal and everyone feared Apollo's wrath.

Apollo was the very least of Kassandra's worries. Of more pressing concern was getting to the outer wall without being seen. The wall was a long run of rough-hewn stones, chest high, with a sharp corner at the end closest to the sentry. She crouched, then chose a curving path that used the corner to block the soldier's sightlines.

Above her, the sky reflected the halo of torchlight from where he stood on the other side of the wall. She could hear him breathing, and the creak of his armor as he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

She drew her spear, her grip tight around its leather-wrapped handle. Then she vaulted over the wall, took one long step, then another, and drove the spear into the base of his skull. Time slowed, lengthening like thread from a dropped spindle, and she plucked the torch out of the air as he toppled to the ground. She didn't want an uncontrolled fire waking up the rest of the camp.

The interior of the camp was lit by scattered oil lamps. She snuffed the torch out against the dirt road, its jeweled embers shining in the dark, and when she looked up again, she heard the quiet _twang_ of a bowstring, then a second _twang_, and then two sentries became two bodies sagging down to earth. She really could get used to Kyra's idea of backup.

She crept across the grass to the nearest tent. Listened for a moment and heard quiet snoring from within. Lifted the flap, let her eyes adjust to the light, and saw two sleeping forms. Then she was inside, flicking her blade once, twice, and afterwards, neither man would wake again.

There were two more soldiers sleeping in the last tent. She eased her way through its opening, crouched above the nearest man, lifted her spear — and he suddenly woke up, eyes wild, mouth wide. She dropped her knee onto his chest and clamped her hand across his mouth and stabbed him in the throat. The other soldier slept on, but his slumber was unsettled. He murmured nonsense and rolled over in his bedding. Death came for him swiftly and silently. What had he dreamt of before he found himself on the banks of the Styx?

Back outside, she wiped her blade on the flap of the tent and rinsed her hands in a basin of water on a nearby table. The sky had brightened to a pale, rose-colored glow, and she could see the crates of weapons scattered in piles around the camp.

An oil lamp rested on a post next to the tent. She picked up a jug sitting at the base of the post and smelled it. Oil. Perfect.

She flung the jug at the closest pile of crates, where it shattered into a spray of shiny droplets on impact. But before she could even pick up the lamp, a bright streak shot through the air and struck the pile. There was a loud _whumph_, followed by an impressive ball of flame as the entire pile of weapons went up like a pyre.

Kassandra turned and saw Kyra standing nearby with her bow in her hand and a smirk on her face.

They lit up pile after pile in short order, until there was only one remaining. Kassandra searched the camp, looking for another oil jug, and as she rummaged through shelves full of supplies, she spotted an amphora among a stack of empty vessels. She lifted it and read the stamp on its lid: Pramnian wine. Now _that_ was a find. She tucked it back into place and kept searching until she found the oil she sought. Then she handed the oil jug off to Kyra while she went back to claim her prize.

Just as she was pulling the wine from its hiding place, she heard Kyra's voice behind her.

"What have you got there?"

Gods, Kyra was quick. The last pile was already up in flames.

Kassandra turned around, hiding the amphora behind her back.

"Let me see it."

"You're not my polemarch," Kassandra said, pivoting her body to keep the wine out of sight as Kyra darted from side to side, trying to catch a glimpse of it.

Kyra put one hand on her hip and used the other one for punctuation. "So you're a Spartan again? How convenient. Let me see it."

Kassandra smiled benevolently. "No."

"I'm _paying_ you!"

"You haven't given me a single drachma yet. Come to think of it, you've been costing _me_ money." She started counting on her fingers. "Docking fees for the Adrestia... Boarding fees at the stables..."

"Those are your problems, not mine." Kyra had both hands on her hips now.

"Your curiosity is your problem, not mine."

"You're really not going to show me, are you?"

She pretended to think about it. "I might be persuaded... but until then, no."

Kyra threw her hands up and turned on her heels. "Fine!" she said. "I don't care what you found." She took three steps up the road, then looked back over her shoulder. "I mean it."

Kassandra shrugged and didn't start walking until Kyra was several steps ahead of her. From that vantage, she could enjoy how Kyra's irritation had permeated her very movements — including the sway of her hips. Provoking Kyra was proving to be highly entertaining.

After a while, she called out after Kyra, "Probably not a good idea for us to stay on the road. Patrols and all."

Kyra whirled around. She waited until Kassandra came close; then, with lightning quickness, her hand shot out and grabbed the edge of Kassandra's chestplate at its neckline.

"You..." Kyra said, voice like smoke, her weight shifting with the intent to pivot Kassandra around. She had to have known Kassandra could be moved only when Kassandra wanted to, but she seemed to expect it would happen anyway, like she'd expect the sun to rise in the east. It made Kassandra curious, and instead of rooting her feet to the ground, she let Kyra turn her and push her backwards off the road and into the forest.

"Are..." Kyra said, and she kept pushing, until Kassandra could sense something solid coming up behind her, and she dropped the arm holding the amphora to her side just before her back ran into the trunk of a tree. Kyra stepped close — so close they could have kissed, close enough for Kassandra to catch her scent: faint woodsmoke, and the sharp, spicy sweetness of laurel.

"Annoying," Kyra finished. Her indignant tone made Kassandra smile, but Kyra's knuckles were warm against her skin and she wondered if Kyra could feel how hard her heart was pounding. It was taking everything she had to stop herself from doing something rash, which was puzzling. She'd never been this tentative, this cautious with someone before.

She drew in a breath, then held up the wine. "Careful. Wouldn't want to damage this."

Kyra glanced down at the amphora. "You sneaky, sneaky misthios. Pramnian wine."

"I was thinking we could share it later."

Kyra's eyes shone in the morning light, and her voice softened. "You surprise me. And to think I nearly threw my blade through your neck."

"No one's perfect."

"Not even you, Eagle Bearer?" She still hadn't moved her hand.

Kassandra's first impulse was to tell a joke, some throwaway line about being the next best thing to a god, a line she'd prop up with confidence and a smile. But something made her answer honestly. Perhaps it was Kyra's skin touching hers, or how close Kyra was standing, or her sudden certainty that Kyra would see right through anything less than the truth, that made her say, "I am far from perfect."

Kyra smiled gently. She released her grip on Kassandra's armor, but instead of pulling her hand away, she set her palm against the center of the chestplate. "Maybe so," she said, "but I like what I've seen."

Kassandra knew the layer of bronze between Kyra's hand and her chest had made the gesture safe enough to be possible, but it didn't stop her from cursing her armor for being there, for separating Kyra's skin from hers. And worse still, she had no idea what Kyra wanted; Kyra's eyes were studying her intently but gave no hint of the conclusions being drawn behind them. She let the moment stretch as long as she could bear, before she put on a smile and said, "Am I free to go?"

The hand on her armor jerked away as Kyra returned from wherever she'd gone to tally up Kassandra's measure. She flushed and looked everywhere but Kassandra's eyes. "We should probably get moving."

"Yes," Kassandra said agreeably, cradling the amphora of wine as she let Kyra lead the way through the forest. It wasn't long before they reached a game trail that made travel far more easier than hacking their way through the underbrush.

Kyra picked up a long, straight stick from the side of the trail and began using it to skewer leaves on bushes and trees as she passed. Her aim was unfailingly accurate, and her wrist moved with such precision that she made very little noise, just the stick whipping through the air and the quiet _thhk_ of leaves plucked from branches. Eventually, she said, "I learned this game from the huntresses at the Temple of Artemis."

"My mother taught me one like it in Sparta. All we needed was a stick and a pine tree covered in cones." Sometimes the game was to knock all the cones off as fast as possible. Other times it was to touch all the cones without making any fall. A game of coordination and muscle control, eyes to arm to wrist, skills useful when wielding a sword, or dagger, or javelin. Even the games of children served a greater purpose in Sparta.

"Do all Spartan women know how to fight?" Kyra switched from stabbing to parrying, her stick striking each branch with a solid _thwack_.

"My mother does." Present tense was the hopeful tense. "But she's an exception. Most Spartan women just learn the basics of hand-to-hand. The real combat training is reserved for men."

"How did you learn?"

"My parents taught me the fundamentals. They start early in Sparta, as soon as a child can walk. But I wasn't there long enough to learn how to fight like a true Spartan."

Kyra's stick hand hesitated, but if she had a question, she didn't ask.

Kassandra wanted her to keep talking. "Did the huntresses also teach you to shoot a bow?"

"They did. I think they harbored secret hopes I'd join them one day."

"As accurate as you are, I'm not surprised. So why didn't you?"

"I've only wanted one thing in this life: to kill Podarkes with my own hands. Vengeance has left little room for anything else." The thwacking was louder now, her stick hitting the limbs and branches with more force.

"What will you do once he's dead and the rebellion is won?"

Kyra stopped walking. She waited until Kassandra drew up next to her, and said, "The sad truth is I have no idea."

Kyra was a glimpse of Kassandra's future. She knew she'd already let her search for her mother all but swallow her whole, while the vengeance she planned to take out on the Cult merely sat there, waiting its turn. And when she thought of what she would do after every Cultist was dead, she saw nothing but a vast and empty space. "I'm beginning to think we have much in common."

"Is that so? And what would that be?"

"I know what it's like to be driven by an overwhelming need, and I've had to fight and claw for everything I have. Seems to me you've done the same."

"We should probably compare notes sometime."

"I'll bring the wine."

"Along with a great many tales, I'm sure. But what will I bring?"

The question was a trap. Kassandra made a show of thinking about her answer, then resumed walking up the path without saying anything. After a few steps, she turned around and said, "Your bow... And yourself, I guess."

"You _guess_? You sure know how to—" Kyra didn't finish.

"How to what?"

"Nothing," she muttered. Perhaps she was catching on to how much Kassandra enjoyed needling her. "What do you want with my bow?"

"I have some questions."

"Such as?"

"Find some time for us to compare notes. Then you'll find out." Just an evening with Kyra was all she wanted, someplace safe, where they didn't have to worry about Athenian patrols, or the rest of the world for that matter, where they could trade questions and she could find out the things about Kyra she wanted to know: how she'd escaped from Podarkes as a child, how she'd learned to throw a knife like that, how she'd gotten that scar on her forehead. The answers would fit together like tiles in a mosaic. The full picture was what she wanted to see.

And maybe she'd even be able to figure out if Kyra wanted anything from _her_.

.oOo.

They were crossing the forested hillside above the Sanctuary of Apollo when Kassandra caught the scent in the breeze. She stopped moving and breathed in deeply. There it was: metallic and cloying and all too familiar. "Do you smell that?" she asked Kyra, dropping her voice to a whisper.

"Smell what?"

"Blood."

Kyra shook her head.

Kassandra placed the wine in a hollow between the roots of a nearby tree and drew her spear. The scent was faint, and she began moving across the wind, turning as the wind shifted, narrowing down the direction of its source. Kyra followed close behind; alert, but mainly curious.

The scent had to be coming from a pile of boulders and exposed rock in the slope up ahead, the pile about as far away as a good javelin throw. Kassandra headed in its direction, picking her way carefully through the thick underbrush, and soon her hunch was confirmed: there, on the ground, was a drop of blood. It had been there long enough to turn the dark red of garnet but hadn't yet begun to dry. She pointed at it with her spear, and Kyra nodded wordlessly and drew her sword. Another few steps forward revealed more blood, some trailing northwards, the rest leading up to the rocks.

They were close enough now that Kassandra could hear labored breathing and the faint sounds of something moving between the boulders. She readied her spear, then felt Kyra change course behind her, turning back to see Kyra begin climbing up the hillside on a path that would let her flank whoever — or whatever — was hidden nearby.

Kassandra rounded the boulder and found a woman leaning against the rocks, her tunic stained dark red, her bloody hand brandishing a dagger.

Kassandra held out a hand, and said, "I mean no threat."

The hand holding the dagger dropped, and the woman slumped as if exhausted by the effort. She wore an eyepatch, and her good eye stared at Kassandra. The eyepatch wasn't new, but the wound at her belly certainly was. "Come to turn me in to the priests?"

Kassandra knelt outside the woman's dagger range and said, "Depends on what you've done."

"Don't know if anyone told you, but it's illegal to spill blood on this gods-forsaken island."

"So I've heard."

"Shame nobody told the beast roaming around."

"Beast?"

"I'd call it a bear, but I'd be lying. It's a nightmare sent by Artemis."

"How'd you run into it?"

Kyra's voice sounded from the rocks above them. "I'd bet good drachmae that she smuggled it here." There was a blur and a thump as she leapt down and landed next to Kassandra. "You're awful far from home, aren't you stranger? And giant bears don't just appear on Delos." Her tone was frosty, as if she'd summoned Boreas himself into every word.

"I don't know what you're talking about," the woman said.

Kyra crossed her arms. "We're wasting our time here, misthios."

There was something about the icy edge to Kyra's voice that told Kassandra to play along. "Agreed," she said, getting ready to stand.

"Misthios? Wait, wait. Look. You're right," the woman said, nodding at Kyra. "We _were_ smuggling the bear. To Kos. But Poseidon had other ideas — sent a storm that smashed our ship upon this damn island, and that evil beast broke loose. It went right for the crew." She grimaced with pain and looked at Kassandra. "They were my family, and I'll pay you good drachmae to put that bear down before it kills anyone else."

"At the rate you're bleeding, you're not going to live long enough to pay me," Kassandra said. She glanced at Kyra. "Are physicians illegal here too?"

"No, but the ones here are living on the edge, that's for sure." She gestured to the woman. "We could take her to the camp. There's a healer there."

"Let's go, then." Kassandra pulled one of the woman's arms across her shoulder, and Kyra did the same with the other, and together they lifted the woman to her feet.

"What's your name?" Kyra asked.

"Iola," she said, in between panting breaths. "My gratitude to you both."

"Thank us once we reach camp," Kyra said. "It's a long way over rough ground, and you'll be cursing us most of the trip."

It wasn't long before her words proved to be true.

.oOo.

Barnabas was waiting for them at the camp, and he hurried over as soon as he saw they'd brought an extra person with them. He helped Kassandra ease Iola onto a cot while Kyra hurried off to summon the healer. "I'm glad you're back," he said. "I was beginning to get worried."

"We burned the weapons to ash. But it was slow going on the way back." She looked at Iola. The woman's eyes were closed, her skin nearly white.

"And who is this?" he asked.

"Captain of a smuggling ship run aground. Got mauled by a bear that escaped from her cargo and ate the rest of her crew."

He glanced around, as if expecting the bear to jump out from the bushes at any moment. "And where is this bear?"

"I'm going hunting for it shortly." And she would, after she took a few moments to rest and work out the kinks in her shoulder after carrying a load upon it over hill after rocky hill. She also needed something to eat.

He looked relieved. "The Adrestia's ready to depart at any time."

"Good. While I'm gone, make sure she" — a nod to Iola — "makes it on board the ship. We're taking her back to Mykonos with us."

"Aye, Captain."

She wandered away, then, but not before she heard him kneel beside Iola's cot and begin murmuring, "Great Asklepios, I beseech you, hear my prayer..."

.oOo.

Some time later, after Kassandra had eaten, and gone through her armor piece by piece to ensure it was ready for the next fight, she sat with her legs straddling a wooden bench, drawing the blade of her spear across a whetstone.

The steady _shhshht_ of metal against stone was soothing. She'd realized something earlier, as her fingers had brushed over her chestplate looking for dents and damaged hinges: she hadn't felt any pleasure killing the men in the Athenian camp that morning. There was satisfaction, yes, in accomplishing what they'd set out to do, but none of the warmth, or the silky, sensual delight that followed every time she killed. There was also none of the craving for more blood, and none of the queasiness from coming off the murderous high. There'd been no high to come down from.

She wondered what had made this morning different from all the days that had come before.

Her hand trembled, upsetting the course of the spear and disrupting her rhythm. She stopped sharpening, and breathed in and out, deeply, until her hands became steady again and she could resume sliding blade over stone. What had been different this morning?

Footsteps behind her, someone light and quiet. She didn't turn around to look.

Kyra's voice floated over her shoulder. "The healer says Iola will probably survive. She stitched her up and gave her something to knock her out. She's not happy you want to move Iola onto your ship, but Barnabas wasn't hearing any of that."

Kassandra smirked as she imagined his ire, but the strokes of her blade remained constant.

"He's keeping watch over Iola," Kyra said. There was silence for several moments, then: "He's a good man."

"He is. One of the very few in Greece."

Another silence. "We left the wine up in the forest."

"I'll get it on my way back."

"So you're going after the bear. By yourself."

Kassandra lifted the spear and began testing its edge with the pad of her thumb, checking for nicks that had escaped her efforts.

"The bear that just killed an entire shipload of hunters and smugglers. Sometimes I wonder if you're just confident, or if you have a death wish."

"Yes, it's a miracle I've survived this long." She picked up a scrap of linen and began polishing the blade with it.

"If I offer my help, will you refuse it?"

"Looking for a cut of some drachmae?"

"I don't care about the drachmae."

Kassandra put the cloth down. "This isn't your fight, and I wasn't going to assume you'd want to take part. But if you want to help... I won't refuse you." She tilted the blade, caught Kyra's reflection in its bright surface before she rested it across her knee. She chose her words carefully. "I've enjoyed our work together."

Kyra moved closer, and she curved her hand against the base of Kassandra's neck, holding onto it as she leaned into Kassandra's shoulder. Kassandra closed her eyes, stopping herself from her want, and a surge of anticipation coursed through her body and across her skin, as if she were standing in a storm, holding her breath while the air charged around her and the hair on the back of her neck stood up, holding on as she waited for the strike of lightning. But Kassandra didn't know if she should be anticipating Zeus's fury or something else entirely. Then Kyra's voice slid across her ear and brought her back to here and now. "So have I, Kassandra," she said. There was a smile in her voice, and perhaps something more. "I'll get my bow."

And then she withdrew her hand, breaking contact, her footsteps fading in the air, leaving Kassandra's skin tingling and her heart rumbling in her chest like distant thunder. No, she wasn't going to be able to stop herself for very much longer.


	14. A Cut, Quick and Painless

While Kassandra knew that nothing awaited her in Kyra's private chamber except for conversation, she'd be damned by the gods if she said she wasn't hoping for something more. She'd even made a token protest, arguing that discussions of strategy could wait until they'd both recovered from their whirlwind excursion to Delos; but Kyra had dismissed it, saying, "Podarkes will be furious once he finds out we burned his precious weapons, and I want to have a plan in place before he makes his next move."

Which is how Kassandra found herself sitting at a table in Kyra's chamber, trying to keep her eyes away from the bed while Kyra used a lamp to light other lamps around the room. As the illumination grew, Kassandra could see that the room was small and roughly circular, with the bed shoved against the stone wall on one side and rough-hewn wooden shelves against the other. The table at which she sat was in the center, and to her left was the hanging cloth that covered the doorway.

The table before her was covered with scrolls. The shelves were stacked with scrolls. Even the bed that Kassandra was trying so decorously to avoid looking at had a scroll peeking out from between its pillows and its brightly colored blankets.

Kyra swept the scrolls from the table and into her arms before she headed for the shelves, but one escaped and fell to the floor at Kassandra's feet. Kassandra picked it up and read its title. "Antigone."

Kyra looked over from stacking scrolls into piles. "Surprised to see high art in such a low place?" There was an undercurrent of bitterness beneath those words. Seemed she still expected Kassandra to think the least of her when it came to her skills.

"No. I already know you're well-educated." Kassandra handed her the scroll and answered the question already forming on her face. "I don't get many letters with the word 'insatiable' in them."

"But you understood it." Kyra placed the scroll with the others, then came and sat across from Kassandra at the table.

"A misthios only needs to know enough to read a bounty and count up the drachmae."

"And yet: _insatiable_. Did you learn that word in Sparta too?" She was fishing now, casting her line in search of information.

"My mother taught me to read and write."

"That's the second time you've mentioned her."

"Surprised I have one?"

She looked amused at that. "Turnabout is fair play," she said, to no one in particular. "Perhaps I'm just glad you didn't spring fully formed from the forehead of Ares."

"I learned _my_ many skills the hard way." They traded grins, and Kassandra decided she'd rather trade information than fish for it. "And who taught you how to wield a pen?"

"You don't know? Not even a guess?"

Kassandra shrugged.

"I learned from mercenaries like you. I was living in the streets. I had nothing. But I realized pretty damn quickly that no one can steal the alphabet from you, so I did whatever I could to get it." The memory rekindled a determined fire in her eyes. "Letters, words, poems in memory. Then much later, after we found this place, came the scrolls."

Kyra had rebuilt her life from barren earth, without the head start Kassandra had been given in hers. She looked at Kyra again. The fires were still there in her eyes, hinting at the focus on survival that had consumed her. "You're far beyond me in such things," Kassandra said, gesturing at the shelves. "I can't tell you who wrote that play—"

"Sophokles."

"—or what the Pythagorean Theorem is about—"

"The relationship between the lengths of the sides of a right triangle."

Kassandra absorbed that for a moment, then began to laugh. "And you can still hit a target from fifty paces with a bow."

"Don't get too down on yourself. You can lift heavy stuff and reach things that are too high for everyone else."

"And serve as bait for a bear, don't forget that." Enough time had passed after yesterday's excitement that Kassandra could joke about it now.

But instead of smiling, Kyra frowned. "How's your back?"

Kassandra instinctively twisted around to look at her armor, where the beast's massive paw had slammed into her and sent her flying across the beach. "A little sore, but tomorrow's when I'm really going to feel it."

"That bear was... I've never seen a monster like him." Kyra traced the grain of the tabletop with her finger. "I was actually afraid for a moment there, after I'd gone through half my arrows and he still kept coming after you."

If that was true, she hadn't shown it. She'd stood on the broken deck of the beached ship and fired arrow after arrow into the behemoth, seeking the one, vital hit that would bring him down.

"And then he got you with his paw — I thought he was going to kill you." Her finger drew circles on the woodgrain like a leaf trapped in an eddy.

"He didn't. And I have you to thank for that." In hindsight, Kassandra had been overconfident and ill prepared. She should have taken a javelin instead of her sword. She should have scouted the ship from afar instead of running straight for it. She didn't want to think of what might have happened if Kyra hadn't been there.

"I just wish we could've done something other than kill him."

"He was a mighty beast. But he did not belong on Delos."

"Because someone stole him from his home and brought him there! He had no say in the matter."

"If you believe in the Fates, none of us ever have a say. Everything has been decided for us."

A long pause. "And is that what you believe, Kassandra?"

"No, I don't believe my fate is a thread already woven. But there are times when the strand hangs at the mercy of winds outside my control."

"So if you were a bear, blown onto a strange island by a storm of someone else's making, what would you do?"

She'd come closer to Kassandra's truth than she knew. "I'd do exactly what that bear did," Kassandra said. "Fight until something killed me."

"Is that what you're doing now?" Kyra asked, but then she waved the question away before Kassandra could open her mouth. "No, don't answer that. I shouldn't pry, though every time you answer one question it makes me want to ask ten more."

"What would _you_ do if you were that bear?" Kassandra asked. Trading information.

"I'd eat all the smugglers and savor the taste of revenge. And then I'd run to the hills and try to find some peace and quiet." Her finger stilled on the tabletop. "I may not know what I want to do after Podarkes is gone, but when I dream, I dream of peace."

"A worthy goal."

"You think so?" Kyra's gaze shifted from the table to Kassandra. "Would you ever put down your spear?"

Kassandra considered the question. There were so many people left for her to kill that the idea seemed impossible. "And what would I do? Raise goats?" She rested both hands palm up on the table. "Fighting is all I know."

"A clever leader wouldn't need to throw you at the front lines." Kyra said it like a fact, full of confidence. "They'd ask you questions like this: what will Podarkes do without any spare weapons at hand?"

"He'll beg Athens for another shipment and double up the guards at all the outposts. But the bigger question is, how long do we have before he starts killing civilians?"

"Knowing his cruelty, not very."

"Then we should strike him quickly where it'll hurt him most."

"Are you saying..." Kyra didn't finish, instead reaching under the table and pulling a large scroll from a basket. She unrolled it across the table's surface. "This is Miltiades Fort, where the treasury for the Silver Islands is kept."

"If we find it and steal it, the soldiers go unpaid, unfed, and unarmed."

"Leaving Podarkes all alone with no one to defend him." Kyra smiled. "I like this plan. I'll have Praxos gather the troops."

"Wait. It's best if it's just you and I. Save your fighters for when we attack Podarkes directly."

"And here I was hoping you just wanted me all to yourself."

Kassandra didn't move, despite her accelerating heartbeat, despite her stomach becoming a bottomless cavern. Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to rein herself in would have been too obvious. "I do," she said eventually, carefully. "I want you up on the ramparts of Miltiades Fort—" ignoring the upward creep of Kyra's brows "—because I can't pull this heist off without you."

"It's so good to be desired," Kyra said. "Now, what do you need me to do?"

"I need you to find us some sulfur, false-silver, and quicklime." Ingredients for a dirty mercenary trick that would make it possible for the two of them to take on an entire fort.

"Oh, is that all?"

"I'm just getting started," Kassandra said with a smile. "How do you feel about heights?"

.oOo.

Together they'd come up with a plan, and when the flaming tongues of the lamps around them began to sputter, starved of oil, Kassandra realized she'd lost all sense of time. It hadn't seemed that long, sitting there side by side, Kassandra feeling the heat from Kyra's leg against her own as they pored over the map and discussed how they'd spirit away the treasury without anyone raising an alarm.

"So it's settled, then." Kyra patted the map with her palm, then stood and stretched before she wandered across the room and began refilling the lamps with a small jug of oil.

Kassandra heard footsteps outside the chamber, and Kyra must have also, for she paused between pours, the graceful line of her arm caught in silhouette against the wall. Kassandra tilted her ear towards the doorway, heard the soft clink of armor, and wasn't surprised when the cloth swept aside to reveal Thaletas.

"I'm glad you're—" He stopped abruptly, looking at Kassandra. "Ah, misthios. Taking a break from causing mayhem?"

"Podarkes won't execute himself."

Kyra turned, lifting her chin towards him. "I thought you were waiting on the beach," she said coolly.

Kassandra didn't wait for him to answer, and she pushed her seat back from the table and stood. "It's about time I got going."

He held up a hand. "Before you leave, Kassandra, there's a matter I could use your help with — no, not now. Come find me at my camp."

She nodded _very well_ to him and _farewell_ to Kyra, then walked out of the chamber, and as she heard the faint murmur of their voices beginning to intermingle, she cursed herself for wishing she could listen in on the conversation she'd left behind.

.oOo.

Miltiades Fort squatted above dark, wind-swept cliffs, hunched over like an old guardsman sitting with his back to the sea. Moonlight sheened the rocks with silver, and the air was warm and heavy with the smell of saltwater and smoke. Kassandra jammed her hand inside a crevice in the rocks and canted her body out over empty space, smiling into a breeze that carried with it the distant sound of waves pounding the stones far below. She drank the air in like wine. It was a fine evening for thievery.

But the feeling faded the moment Kyra came into view below her, washed out by a vague unease that grew the longer she watched Kyra ascend. She turned back to the cliff face, adjusted the bundle slung on her back, and resumed climbing, taking extra care not to knock any stones loose with Kyra down below.

The moon was bright and the handholds plentiful, and when she reached the top, she carefully lifted herself past the edge. It wouldn't do to spill the precious cargo she carried. Along with the bundle, she had her spear, slung in its sheath on a leather shoulder harness she wore over her chiton. No armor. Trading protection for silence and ease of movement had been a deliberate choice — taking on an entire fort's worth of soldiers in combat was not part of their plan.

She'd lifted herself onto a narrow shelf of rock, a false top to the cliff. To reach the fort, they'd have to clamber over a chest-high lip of more rock, then cross a strip of grass dotted with bushes and wind-stunted trees. They'd be able to stay out of sight of the guards as long as they kept their heads down. On this side, closest to the cliffs, the fort was less a set of walls than a collection of collapsing ruins. With any luck, Podarkes's lack of spending on upkeep would mean more silver in the treasury.

A short while later, Kyra's head popped up at the edge, and Kassandra held out a hand and helped Kyra climb up next to her. They crouched there, looking at each other, Kyra's skin glistening with sweat as she caught her breath, her eyes and hair gleaming silver with Artemis's gift of moonlight.

Kassandra felt a faint tremor pass through Kyra's hand, and as it disappeared into warmth and stillness where their skin touched, a matching warmth bloomed deep in her belly. Then Kassandra looked away, looked up at the fort, and reluctantly let Kyra's hand go.

At their feet, only the bravest of grasses and wildflowers scratched out a living on the exposed stone. Kyra knelt among the tufts and tiny blossoms, untied the bundle slung across her shoulder, set it down carefully, and muttered, "Glad to be done with that climb."

"I thought you said you weren't afraid of heights," Kassandra said, her voice just above a whisper. She untied her own bundle and placed it next to Kyra's.

"I said that if we _had_ to climb, I would do it. Didn't mean I'd enjoy it." Kyra opened her bundle and began pulling out its contents: shawls made from dun-colored fabric, and a few soft-sided flasks sewn from leather. "Of course you turned out to be part mountain goat." She handed Kassandra one of the shawls. "I guess climbing's easy when you know a fall won't kill you."

"How do you—"

"Did you actually think I didn't see you jump from the top of the Temple of Artemis the other day?"

They'd had a conversation right after, and Kyra hadn't given a single sign that she'd just witnessed Kassandra do the impossible. It took skill to hide something like that so deeply. It reminded Kassandra of another woman with the same skill, Aspasia. _To convince someone in this house, even your eyes must tell a lie._

"I thought you were going to kill yourself," Kyra said, "and then you jumped and it... _didn't_." She sat back on her haunches. "I'm just glad I hired you before Podarkes offered you the contract on _my_ head."

"I wouldn't have taken it."

"Are you sure, misthios?" She waited a beat. "Oh, don't look so serious. I was raised by your kind, remember?"

Kassandra tried to ignore the pang that shot across her chest, and she realized she was twisting the shawl in her hands. Kyra's image of her was incomplete, but even a fragment still held some truth in it. She couldn't deny that she'd taken plenty of contracts from vile people.

Kyra's dark eyes were studying her intently. "Maybe one day you'll tell me what you need all that drachmae for."

Now wasn't the time, and Kassandra didn't answer. Instead, she flipped the shawl over her shoulder and opened her own bundle, adding the flasks she'd brought with her to Kyra's collection and sorting them into groups. Four flasks held a mixture of powdered sulfur and false-silver, four held quicklime, and the last flask was filled with water.

Kyra's eyes never left her. "You look different without armor."

"Oh?"

"I won't say you look softer, because you might get offended."

"But you just... did?"

Kyra grinned. "Are you offended?"

"No."

"Good." Kyra reached up and gathered her hair, pulling it off her shoulders and tying it into a loose knot. It exposed the lines of her neck, the hollow under her jaw curving up to her ear...

Kassandra's mouth went dry.

Kyra pulled a shawl around her shoulders. "How do I look?" she asked.

_Beautiful,_ Kassandra wanted to say, but what came out of her mouth was, "You fit the part." With her plain, rough-spun chiton and lack of jewelry, Kyra could pass as a servant. She _had_ to pass as a servant, for all their hopes rested on her ability to travel the fort unnoticed.

Kyra collected all the flasks into one large bundle. "I'm ready."

Kassandra lifted herself up enough to look over the edge. To the left, a guard walked the closest wall, headed away from them. To the far right, two more guards watched the side of the hill that sloped gently down from the fort. Kyra wouldn't even come close to their sightlines. The path was clear.

Kassandra's heart squeezed within her chest, cranked tight, as if it were a heavy load being hoisted at the docks, something pulling its ropes, pulling it in perfect tension. "Kyra," she said. "Stay safe."

A nod. Kyra's warmth brushing past and fading quickly. An indentation in the grass where she'd been. Kassandra peered over the edge, intending to watch Kyra pass inside the ruined walls, but what she saw was a transformation: Kyra's shoulders drooping inwards, her confident gait slowing, her steps dragging. By the time she disappeared between broken heaps of stone, she'd become exactly what anyone in the fort expected to see, another servant girl struggling under the weight of a heavy load.

Still, Kassandra was uneasy. The tightness remained in her chest, a foreign feeling, especially now in the middle of a job, where she expected her heart to beat as steadily as the oarmaster's drum on a trireme and her breath to come and go as smoothly as the sweep of its oars.

She had asked Kyra to do so much. It was Kyra who would locate the treasury, Kyra who would set the distractions, all because there was no way Kassandra could pass as the kind of servant this job required, the ones who existed in the background, seeing everything, ever present but utterly anonymous. And Kyra would have to do it alone and unarmed, surrounded by a fort full of soldiers.

Kyra had jumped at the chance, despite all the dangers. _I said that if we had to climb, I would do it._

Suddenly, Kassandra knew why she was uneasy; why her heart felt tight in her chest; why this feeling felt so foreign. She was afraid. Not for herself, but for _Kyra_. She could count on one hand the number of times she had truly been afraid in her life, and now her fears had somehow become entwined with this woman she was just beginning to know. The realization made her rock back on her heels.

And now, all she could do was sit in the company of this discovery, and wait.

.oOo.

A quarter hour. A half hour.

The always-turning wagon plodded in the sky overhead.

Three quarters of an hour.

Silence from the fort, and no sign of Kyra.

An hour. More.

Kassandra could deviate from the plan. She could sneak past the guards. She could get inside the walls. She could find—

A rustle of leaves. Grass parted by footsteps. She reached back and wrapped her fingers around the handle of her spear, just in case, but then Kyra was lowering herself gracefully into place beside her.

"Done and done," Kyra said, with a satisfied smile.

Kassandra's heart beat freely again.

"I don't know how long we have before the quicklime ignites. I tried to measure the water out, but— Are you all right?"

Kassandra didn't answer that question, but another. "It'll be soon." Then the sulfur and false-silver would start to burn, producing thick smoke and choking gas and, eventually, fire. "Where's the treasury?"

Kyra motioned Kassandra beside her, and together they looked at the fort. She pointed to the wall to their left. "That wall. Follow it until it turns a corner to the right. Keep going until it ends at a staircase. The building above you will have the treasury on the second floor."

"Where will you meet me?"

"At the northeast corner."

Kassandra adjusted the shawl over her shoulders, making sure it covered her spear. She just needed to be convincing enough to look like a servant from a distance. "Let's go."

"Kassandra, wait." Kyra put her hand on Kassandra's forearm. "If things look bad, get out of there."

"You got us this far. I'll not waste it."

"No." Kyra's fingers dug into her arm. "This drachmae isn't worth your life."

She wasn't going to let the matter drop until Kassandra gave her what she wanted. "Very well."

Kyra released her grip, and Kassandra lifted herself up and over the edge.

"Look," Kyra said, pointing towards the fort. There was a plume of stark white smoke to the southwest, and the sound of far-off shouting.

Kassandra looked at Kyra, smiling faintly. "See you soon," she said, and then she crouched and moved away, through the tall grass and past the trees and bushes. No guards in sight. The shouting was louder now, and there was more of it, and the white column of smoke was sullied by dark streaks — a sign that the fire had grown beyond the powders Kyra had planted and into flammables like wood.

She moved to the wall Kyra had shown her. At this end, it had collapsed into a rough series of steps. She climbed swiftly, and when she reached the top, she was rewarded with the sight of the watchtower on the far side of the fort being attacked by flames.

She picked up her pace, not even bothering to crouch. The wall turned hard to the right, and brought her across the top of the fort's entrance. She looked down into the courtyard and saw the stables, the horses and wagons, the servants trying to flee and the soldiers trying to stop them. That's where Kyra was headed, where she'd wait for a chance to steal a wagon.

The wall ended just as Kyra had said it would, at a set of stairs to the left with a large building looming overhead, framed by a second plume of smoke billowing into the sky. She couldn't tell if the treasury building was on fire, or one of its neighbors.

"Hey! You!" A soldier's voice, far to her right.

She pretended not to hear him, turned, and hurried up the steps. They brought her to the fort's upper level, a labyrinth of rooftops and wooden walkways between buildings. Dirty grey smoke hung in the air, acrid and heavy with sulfur, and orange tongues of fire licked out the windows of the building next to the treasury. She ran towards the fire while everyone else was running to get down below, where she could see soldiers and servants crowding the paths. Some carried buckets of water while others milled about in confusion and fear.

The walkway dumped her into the third floor of the treasury, where the smoke wasn't yet as thick as it was outside. She threw off her shawl, drew her spear, and looked for the way down to the floor below.

She found the hatchway and ladder in the far corner, a portal down into an orange-tinted haze. She couldn't risk sticking her head through to take a look, so she listened instead and heard movement. A cough. Footsteps. But the noise from the chaos outside was too great for her to be certain of numbers. If she dropped through, she could be facing one soldier — or ten.

She dropped through.

Three. No, four. There were four, and she launched herself at the first, braced her forearm against his chestplate and pushed him back as she stabbed him in the gut with her spear. Everything slowed down, Chronos smiling upon her as he always did in a fight. She grabbed the man in her hands by his armor, spun him around, and hurled him into the next soldier, one who stood there holding a torch. Both went sprawling. The torch flew to the floor, and the room and its smoky haze darkened within its diminished light.

She caught the third man before he'd even finished drawing his sword, whipped her elbow up through his jaw, turned and slid past the thrusting sword of the last soldier, took the arm it belonged to and pulled the body off-balance so she could drive her knee into a groin. Another kick sent him straight into the wall. His body slumped to the floor, unmoving.

Footsteps slapped on wooden planks, a soldier running away, scrabbling up the ladder and out of sight. Then nothing moved, except the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

The treasury awaited, a heavy wooden box banded with iron. She lifted its lid, reached in, and pulled out a heavy bag, untying it and looking inside just to be sure. Drachmae. Four bags in total, containing thousands of coins.

This was going to be one Hades of a load, and she didn't want to make the trip more than once. The smoke was growing thicker every moment she delayed. She glanced around and spotted a set of scales resting in a bronze tray on a nearby table. She swept the scales aside and took the tray, then picked up two of the bags and headed for the ladder. Climbed high enough to toss them up to the next floor, followed by the tray. Then back down for the last two.

She piled everything onto the tray, squatted and lifted, the muscles in her arms and back and legs pulling tight as anchorlines as they held the weight.

She emerged into heat and smoke so thick she could only see a few paces in front of her. The building next door was a pyre, the lower floors engulfed with flame, and it was only a matter of time before it spread to the rooftops, devouring everything in its path and leaving only scorched stone behind. Its light helped her find her bearings, and she turned to the right, taking lumbering steps across the walkway to the top of the fort's stone walls, heading to the northeast.

By the time she reached the agreed-upon corner, the smoke had thinned, and she looked over the side of the wall and saw Kyra sitting on the seat of a small wagon, its bed filled with a load of hay. Kassandra whistled a greeting, then began pitching the bags over the side, each one landing in the wagon with a loud bang. Behind her, she heard shouting from somewhere in the smoke. It was time to go.

She swung herself over the side and began climbing down, but at the half-way point she pushed away from the wall and leapt down to the ground. She popped up next to the wagon. From here, she could see the fort's entrance, and a line of soldiers trying to hold a large crowd of servants back from fleeing.

"None of that blood better be yours," Kyra said, taking up the reins as Kassandra climbed into the seat beside her. "Ela!"

The wagon lurched into motion.

"It's not. But it could complicate things if we run into any soldiers." And there would be soldiers, for she knew that if she turned around, she would see the fort wearing a wreath of fire. Every Athenian camp on Mykonos would know that the fort burned soon enough.

Kyra drove the horses at a steady, unhurried pace. Galloping off at speed would only attract attention. "What do you want to do, then?" she asked.

"Take us to those trees." Kassandra pointed to a small copse of pines by the road at the foot of the hill.

They drove on in silence.

Then they heard hoofbeats behind them, gaining fast. Men shouting "Make way! Clear the road!" Would they notice the spear on her back? Notice the blood on her hands and chiton?

Kassandra's fingers twitched, but she kept her hands at her sides and didn't turn around. Her seat rocked gently as Kyra slowed the horses and pulled the wagon to the side of the road, and moments later, two soldiers on horseback blew past them. Probably off to tell Podarkes the bad news. Oh, to be a fly on the wall for that conversation.

A short while later, Kyra brought the wagon to a halt just outside the stand of trees. Kassandra hopped off the seat. "Meet me at the overlook outside the Temple of Artemis."

Kyra nodded. "Don't take too long," she said. Then she lifted the reins and drove off, headed for the drop-off point where she'd hand the wagon over to a small group of waiting rebels while a few others secured the loot and brought it back to the hideout.

Kassandra stood by the road for several moments, listening to the sound of the wagon's wheels crunching on the dirt, then she turned, stepped into the trees, and began to run.

.oOo.

Kassandra found Kyra waiting for her at the overlook. She'd cleaned up and changed clothes, just as Kassandra had, and she stood still and quiet in the moonlight, seeming more a carving of ivory than a living being. But at Kassandra's approach, she turned and was alive again, her eyes gleaming, her lips curving into a smile.

"The treasury is ours," she said. "Praxos is guarding it personally."

"How much drachmae was there?"

She waved a hand dismissively. "A lot. But I'll count it later." Her eyes settled on Kassandra. "I imagine you'll be wanting your cut soon enough."

"I'm in no hurry." The words slid out before Kassandra had even thought them through. She was _supposed_ to be in a hurry. She was supposed to be searching for her mother, supposed to be hunting down the Cult. All those _supposed tos_ had kept her busy, and busy kept her from facing a truth about her nature that she hadn't yet figured out how to handle: she was so very good at killing people because she enjoyed it, and she enjoyed it so much she was beginning to crave it. That is, until she'd arrived on Mykonos.

Now she killed without feeling anything at all, and she needed to know why, even if the implications scared her enough that she could no longer say she could count the number of times she'd felt fear in her life on one hand. Now she needed _two_...

"Chaire, Kassandra." Kyra's hand was waving in front of her eyes. "Should I be worried by that look on your face?"

"No. It's nothing. What matters is that we took Podarkes's treasury from him, and once the people here realize he's lost every coin, they're going to rip him to pieces."

"He'll never recover from this," Kyra said. The realization of what they'd done hit her then, pouring into her like the fabled nectar of the gods, filling her with strength and possibility. She glowed with it, shimmered in the moonlight. Artemis's favorite.

Kassandra stayed silent, letting Kyra enjoy the moment.

"I burned that fort to the ground." Her smile was brilliant.

"You did."

"Surely even Athens will want to be rid of him now. I'm so happy, I could kiss you."

Kassandra knew Kyra was exaggerating, that she'd said it without meaning it. But Kassandra had never shied away from asking for what she wanted, and Kyra had set her up with a gift on a silver platter. "I don't see anything holding you back," she said, holding out her arms to gesture around them. "Hades could take us both tomorrow."

Kyra's smile faded. "You breathe life into me," she said, and Kassandra instantly knew what was coming next: _But..._ She looked away, unwilling to meet Kassandra's eyes. "If only you'd come here before Thaletas."

Kassandra had read the situation correctly, but it still hit her like a punch to the heart. And now she had to say something. She considered her words, ran them through her head, and found it easier to play dumb. "You and Thaletas? I didn't realize."

"He's stubborn, arrogant, and hot-headed." That could describe nearly every Spartan, Kassandra included. "We don't always agree. But behind all the bronze and brawn, there's a good man I could see by my side when this is all over. If we survive."

So Kyra loved him after all. Kassandra would retreat gracefully, then. "The two of you fighting Athenians on the beach sounds romantic. I'd hate to interfere." But why did it feel like her chest was being crushed in the jaws of some great beast?

Kyra's face was unreadable, but then she leaned forward, closer and closer, and then Kyra's hands gently grasped her arms, and Kyra's breath brushed her ear, and Kyra's lips touched her cheek.

The kiss lasted just a moment, and like a cut from a sharp knife it had been quick and painless, but what damage it had left behind: gods, she wanted Kyra. It was a terrible, terrible thing, to want someone this much while knowing she couldn't have them. Another feeling as foreign to her as fear.

Kyra studied her at arm's length. "Would you even recognize me in the Underworld, I wonder."

"You introduced yourself by throwing a dagger at my head. You'll be damn hard to forget." She smiled, made it look open and affable. _No hard feelings here._ She'd cope with the bruising longing on her own. She had to.

Kyra stepped back, letting Kassandra go. "I've never properly thanked you for coming here. You've brought me hope where there was none."

"Glad to be of service." Thanks and drachmae would be her consolation prize.

"Come with me to the hideout? I'm sure someone's cracked open the wine by now."

She was tempted, bruises and all. She was. "Sounds fun, but I really ought to get back to the Adrestia." Where she had a bunk and her own stash of wine, as much as she hated drinking alone.

Kyra didn't push it, a small mercy that Kassandra appreciated as they traded _good nights_. Then she watched Kyra walk away, Kyra with moonlight in her eyes, moonlight in her hair, walking up the path, disappearing into darkness; and then Kassandra turned, stared out over a city oblivious with slumber, and let her go.


	15. This Life You Didn't Choose

Kassandra awoke to darkness and the rough scratch of wool against her nose. It was unbearably hot. Her fingers scrabbled at thick fabric, and she flung the blanket aside only to instantly regret it: sunshine obliterated her sight, and she closed her eyes against the searing brightness, golden halos dancing behind her eyelids. She turned her head, her cheek coming to rest on cool hardness. Wood. She cracked open an eye, blinked back the harsh light, and saw wooden planks stretching out to meet blue skies. The deck of a ship, rocking her gently. She was on the deck of the Adrestia.

If only she could remember how she'd gotten there.

A voice floated over from behind her. "About damn time you woke up." She knew that voice, tried to think of the name of its owner between the heartbeats that sent her blood banging into the sides of her skull. Gelon.

She groaned. "I feel like death," she said to the planks at the end of her nose.

"You drank so much, Dionysos himself would have fled in shame. I'm impressed."

The wood under Kassandra's cheek was starting to feel hot. She rolled over, closing her eyes as the world smeared into a dizzy swirl and her stomach flopped over like an empty waterskin. When she opened them again, her spear loomed huge in her vision, resting on the deck nearby, and in the background, Gelon sat on a bench near the helm, a coil of rope in her lap and another on the deck at her feet.

"You sure know how to fucking party, misthios. I doubt this crew's ever seen a show that entertaining, and come to think of it, neither have I."

"I don't remember. Anything."

Gelon's head popped up from her work. "Really?" she said. Then she lowered her voice. "Not even what you and I did later for the grand finale? Now you're hurting my only feeling."

Kassandra blinked. She and Gelon didn't... did they? She tried to remember, tried to think, but her blood was pounding against her eyeballs as if they were drumheads. She suffered a glance down at herself. She was still wearing her chiton. That was good. She had no idea where her armor was. That was bad. Then she sniffed the air: sweat and sour wine, but none of the musky afterscents of sex.

"You're full of shit," she said to Gelon.

Gelon gave her a thief's grin. "You're so fun to fuck with," she said cheerfully. "Don't you worry — you ended up as chaste as Hestia. Blue-balled most of your crew, though."

What in Hades had she done last night?

"But if you ever change your mind..." Gelon's eyes glittered as she peered at Kassandra. "We'd have to sort out who's on bottom, though, because it sure as shit ain't gonna be me without a fight."

"I'll keep that in mind," Kassandra said, her voice as dry as the inside of her mouth. She pressed a hand against the deck and pushed herself upright. Her head swam, and so did her stomach.

Gelon set aside the rope she was splicing, came over, and offered Kassandra a hand. Kassandra took it, and Gelon pulled her to her feet and over to the rail. Gelon's hand was solid and square, her leathery skin roughened from the scrape of rope and wood, thickened by salt and wind. So unlike Kyra's—

Kassandra shook the thought away and leaned heavily against the railing. She felt wrung out, her limbs wobbling, Kharybdis in her stomach. She needed water, and to figure out where her armor went.

But first, she'd fold her arms on the rail and rest her head inside their comforting darkness for a while. Just for a little while. Gods, she'd never drink so much again.

.oOo.

Her armor was piled neatly on her bunk. Evidently, she'd been smart enough to take it off before she started drinking. She'd also been smart enough to put a jug of water nearby, not that _that_ plan had come to fruition with her ending up on the deck instead of her bed. She lifted the jug and drank straight from it, tilting her head back and enjoying the cool droplets that spattered against her chest and collarbones. The water put a dent in her headache and muted her heartbeat to a pulsing throb behind her eyes, but her scalp still felt tight and her stomach queasy.

A hot soak followed by a steam bath sounded perfect. She could use the steam to sweat the wine out from her pores. Perhaps she could even sweat away the thoughts of Kyra that clung to her like tar. Lips brushing her cheek. _You breathe life into me._

Her hands shook slightly as she knelt next to the bunk and dragged her trunk out from under it. Even empty the trunk had been heavy, and she rested her palms against its dense wood and let it steady her before she opened the lid and pulled out a clean change of clothes. Inside, a small wooden figurine of an eagle watched over her belongings, and she patted its head just as she always did whenever she saw it.

She changed clothes, and put on her armor, and when she emerged onto the deck, Barnabas was waiting for her by the hatch. "We might have some trouble, Captain," he said, tilting his head towards the dock below. "Athenians. Here to talk to you."

She stepped close to him and spoke quietly. "Can we depart quickly if we have to?" The ache in her head was threatening to flare up again.

"Nearly so."

"Good. If a fight starts, leave. I'll catch up to you later."

"Aye, Captain."

She strolled to the top of the gangplank. Below her, the Athenian soldiers stood like grapes in a cluster around the gangplank's stem, ten of them by her count, with their Captain at the front and center. His helm was topped with the oversized crest of blue, white, and gold that all Athenian officers wore. It may have made him look imposing from a distance, but up close, he still had to look up into her eyes.

"Podarkes wants to see you, misthios," he said without preamble.

"Why?"

"You don't need to know why, just that he does."

"I don't answer to Podarkes — only Perikles, when he's asking _me_ for favors."

"You expect me to believe that boast?"

"You can believe what you want, and then you can go back to Podarkes and tell him he has nothing to say that might interest me."

"And if I _insisted_ you come with me?"

She smiled, even though it made her skull want to split right down the middle. "With only ten men?" Several hands slowly moved to rest on sword pommels, but she held the smile and remained still. "Look. It's a beautiful day, and I'd rather not spend it creating orphans." She also had a hangover and was trying real hard not to vomit on his sandals, but he didn't need to know that part.

He drew himself taller. "Then you can tell Kyra that her execution will be long and painful."

Slow, steady breath in. Slow, steady breath out. She imagined drawing her spear and carving him up ten different ways, each more bloody than the last, but she knew he'd cast this net in search of a reaction. Her eyeballs were pounding again, and even though her fingers twitched, longing to grab her spear and start cutting, it really was too beautiful a day to spill blood. "I don't know who that is," she said.

He opened his mouth to say something but she continued speaking right over him. "Tell me, Captain... How many men did you lose at the fort last night?"

His brow furrowed. "One. Plus a few injured." The soldiers around him glanced at each other.

"Seems to me things could have been much worse." She paused a beat, then asked, "Where are you from?" though she already knew the answer by the way his voice held on to his vowels, spreading them out like spilled honey.

"What does that have to do—"

"You're a long way from Argolis, my friend." She lifted her right hand and began studying the callouses on her palm. "I spent some time there recently. Beautiful place. It's a shame you've been asked to do all this work on a far-away island that doesn't appreciate it."

Silence.

"As it is, you might want to make _extra_ sure your men get paid this month."

He couldn't see the looks being swapped between the soldiers behind him but she didn't need him to. Her words had planted the seed.

"Now, is there anything else you need, Captain?"

He looked away, unable to meet her gaze. "No. We're done here, misthios." He turned on his heel, and his soldiers stepped aside to let him pass, then fell into formation behind him.

She watched them leave. Flexed her fingers, swiveled her head to stretch tense muscles in her neck. Footsteps sounded on the gangplank behind her, and she sensed it was Barnabas approaching before he appeared at her left shoulder.

"Did you hear all that?" she asked him.

"Aye. This Podarkes needs a whipping from the Furies."

"He's getting desperate."

"I'll call the crew on leave back to the ship."

"And I'll look for a safer port." She was just about to say a farewell when a thread of memory worked itself free and stopped her short. "Did you ever make it to your olive grove?"

"No. I've been busy with repairs and crew schedules, and then watching over Iola..." He trailed off.

"Where is it?"

"At the base of the Statue of Artemis. Her blessed right foot points the way."

"You should go. This afternoon."

He hesitated. "Will you come with me?" In the morning light, his good eye was the same sun-faded blue as the Athenian banners that flew around the port. "If you feel up to it, that is. I hear Gelon wore you out last night."

"I did _not_ sleep with Gelon."

His eye sparkled above his grin. "How do you know?"

She opened her mouth. Closed it again. "Well, she said we didn't," she offered.

He burst into laughter. "And you believed her?"

She waved both hands in front of her in a gesture that said _enough_. "This is not up for discussion," she said.

Barnabas chuckled the entire time they traded farewells, and he'd planted just enough doubt that she couldn't help but ransack her memory while she walked briskly through the port and into Mykonos City, heading for the baths. What if she _had_ slept with Gelon? Judging from Gelon's reaction, there were no feelings involved, no expectations to reset, no bruises to soothe...

Kassandra blew out a long breath. She'd been a fool for drinking so much. She should have gone out to the city and found someone who stirred her blood enough to want to bed them, to let the slide of skin over skin and the mix of breath into breath cut away her longing. How hard could it be to forget someone she'd known only a couple of weeks?

She wandered the maze of staircases and narrow streets that made up much of the city with only half an eye on where she was going, and it was only after she'd passed through the entrance to the baths that she realized she'd been gritting her teeth the entire way.

.oOo.

The midday sun blazed overhead as she reined Phobos in at the perimeter of the Spartan camp, its not-quite-summer heat cut by the sea breeze that blew in from the water.

The Spartans had planted their banner in a small cove surrounded by steep, rocky hillsides. They'd conceded the high ground in favor of a camp right on the beach, but no Athenian in their right mind would want to descend those slopes fully geared and armored. The only practical access was from the beach she stood on.

Large barricades fashioned from sharpened poles were positioned strategically across the sand, acting as a funnel to draw everything that approached the camp towards a single point guarded by sentries. She nudged Phobos into a walk, and raised her hand in greeting.

"I'm here to see Thaletas," she said.

"You're welcome here, Eagle Bearer. Go on in."

She rode Phobos to the remnants of an old shipwreck that stuck out from the sand, and then she dismounted and looped his lead around one of the protruding timbers.

Her soak in the baths had helped her headache fade to a dull band of tightness behind her eyes, and her stomach had settled somewhat, though it was still more sour than hungry. She felt clean at least, but if there were dark circles under her eyes and a lack of color to her skin, it couldn't be helped now.

As she entered the cove, Thaletas's voice rose up over the wind, booming with the cadence of command. He stood on what was left of the deck of another wrecked ship, giving a speech to the dozen soldiers he had left.

Seeing him was like pressing down on a bruise, and she was reluctant to come here even though she'd told him she would. But she had another reason for subjecting herself to the ache: she wanted to know what kind of man Thaletas was, beyond their brief interactions in passing. Who was he when Kyra wasn't around?

"The Battle of the Three Hundred?" he was saying. "Leonidas was lucky to have that many men!"

It really was a very pretty speech, and when he was finished, she clapped, slowly, ignoring the irritated stares his soldiers shot her way as they dispersed. Apparently they liked him well enough to feel protective of him.

He jumped down from his makeshift platform onto the sand. "Kassandra. I didn't think you'd come here so quickly."

"And miss such a fine speech?"

"Athenians give speeches. Spartans give orders."

"What was the order for today? Hold this beach?"

She was trying to rile him up, but all he gave her was a tight smile. "We've had little to do while you've been running around setting things on fire."

"It takes effort to smoke out a human sized rat."

"Indeed. Burning down the fort was genius, but making Kyra go in there alone was a huge risk."

"Kyra rose to the challenge."

"What if something had gone wrong?" It was unlike a Spartan to worry about such things, and even more so to admit it out loud. His feelings for Kyra had some depth to them, then.

"Failure isn't one of my habits."

His eyes searched her face, looking for something. "I suppose I should expect no less from the granddaughter of King Leonidas."

So he did know who she was. "How did you find that out?"

"A tale from Korinth, where they say Kassandra of Sparta chopped the Monger down to size in single combat. Kassandra the Eagle Bearer, the long lost granddaughter of kings."

"I am not 'of Sparta.' I've been exiled for twenty years."

"Sparta still remembers you."

All those years, and the same twinge still spidered out from her heart when she thought too hard about Sparta, a mix of curiosity and longing. She was always careful to keep it from lingering. "The Sparta that wanted my brother and I dead? 'Duty to Sparta before all else, duty before family,'" she spat, the words like knives in her tongue. "I'll never abide by Sparta's rules. Exile suits me just fine."

"Don't be so quick to judge us all as simple limbs connected to one mind. All of Sparta knows your story, and many would say your survival shows the true will of the gods. They'd welcome you back."

Another Spartan had said something similar to her: Brasidas, back in Korinth. He was probably the source of the tale Thaletas had heard, too. "Are you trying to recruit me?"

"I'd be a fool not to. Your methods are unconventional, but effective. And I judged them wrongly."

She dipped her head, acknowledging his admission. "Glad to see you come around," she said. "But I doubt you asked me to come here just to tell me that."

"No. I was hoping you could help me with a... small matter."

Interesting, that bit of hesitation. "Go on," she said.

"I lost a helm when the Alekto — my ship — sank."

"Not just any helm, I take it?"

"It was my pater's." He looked away, as if embarrassed. "I was hoping you might look for it, if you ever found yourself near the wreck."

A family heirloom. She understood those. She tried to imagine not having her spear, and couldn't. They'd have to pry it out of her dead fingers. "Where did the wreck happen?" she asked.

"Not far from here, along the beach to the west."

"What does the helm look like?"

"Bronze, like the Korinthians wear, with a red crest and the initials 'MT' scratched inside at the base of the neck."

"I'll find it."

"I'll be in your debt if you do," he said. Then his eyes settled on the hilt of her spear where it rose above her shoulder. "Is that truly King Leonidas's spear?"

"Yes."

"My pater... He pried that helm from _his_ pater's head at Thermopylai."

Thermopylai, where three hundred Spartans fought and died and became legends.

The two of them stood silently, in the company of the ghosts they'd summoned, thinking of the expectations that had been thrust upon them just by being born of certain blood.

.oOo.

One glance at the shattered remains of the Alekto told Kassandra that diving into the wreck in search of Thaletas's lost helm would only waste her time. The ship had been picked clean, with every rope, scrap of metal, and plank of wood small enough for a person to carry ending up part of a scavenger's windfall. Only the spine of the keel and ribs of the hull were left jutting out from the shallows.

She watched the waves splay around the exposed timbers, and thought of vultures, and how they gorged themselves on flesh until they were so fat and heavy they could hardly move.

The scavengers, whoever they were, probably hadn't gone far.

Behind her, the forest stretched down from the hills to dig its roots into the sand, and where the beach ended, a veil of shadow hung from a thick canopy of palm fronds and pine boughs. There was no birdsong, no rustling of animals in the underbrush — only the crash of waves and rasp of her own breath.

She was not alone here.

As she considered her options for what to do next, a familiar call sounded high above her, and she extended her arm out and waited for Ikaros to arrive. Soon enough, the air beat against her face and hair and shoulder as he came in for landing, his wings stretched wide to slow him down. Then his weight settled onto her wrist, and he looked at her with his piercing gaze.

She scritched her fingers under his chin and murmured sweet words to him that would ruin her tough reputation if anyone were to overhear them. He chirruped happily and shimmied from side to side, and she smiled at his pleasure, content to stand and watch the sea for a while.

Ikaros suddenly pointed his gaze behind her, towards the forest. His posture remained relaxed, and he tilted his head in curiosity, and then, between the sound of the waves, came the quiet squeak of feet sinking into dry sand, the steps quick and light.

"Who is it, Ikaros?" she asked. "A wood nymph?"

The footsteps stopped, followed by an indrawn breath that belonged to someone far too young to be much of a threat. Kassandra turned around slowly.

A child was rooted in the sand, chewing a thumbnail on a dirty hand and staring at her with wide eyes in an equally dirty face. He couldn't have been older than five. His hair was cropped short and full of pine needles, and he pulled his thumb away from his mouth just long enough to ask, "Are you the Eagle Bearer?"

Kassandra was wrong: the voice was that of a little girl, one who appeared ready to bolt at any moment. Kassandra lowered herself onto her knees and smiled. "Yes, I am," she said, "but my name is Kassandra, and this is Ikaros."

"Ikaros," the girl repeated. She stepped closer, but kept outside Kassandra's easy reach.

This girl hadn't come here on her own. "Did the others send you because you're the brave one?"

She shook her head. She'd either drawn the short straw or been deemed expendable.

"Are you scared?"

A nod, and the girl's eyes tracked from Kassandra's face to the hilt of the spear at her shoulder and the sword at her waist.

"Then you're the bravest of us all."

The girl gave Kassandra a tiny smile and stopped chewing at her fingers.

"What's your name?"

"Thea."

"Well, Thea, are you here to hire a misthios?"

The girl giggled. "No." She looked down at her toes, half-buried in the sand. "We wanted to see if it was really you. The one who's helping the rebels."

"Who's we?"

Thea turned and waved towards the forest, and children materialized from the trees, running out across the beach in whirlwinds of gangly arms and legs.

Moments later, Kassandra was surrounded by a dozen children chattering with excitement, each with a hundred different things to say. Ikaros kept swiveling his head from the children to Kassandra and back, and she ruffled his chest feathers before letting him take flight, much to her audience's enjoyment. It triggered another onslaught of questions, all jumbled on top of each other.

She gestured for silence and said, "Hold on, hold on," and was surprised when a dozen mouths closed and a dozen pairs of eyes looked at her expectantly. "How many of you have questions?"

Every one of them raised a hand.

This was going to take a while. She picked one at random, pointed at him, and said, "Ask."

"If you're the Eagle Bearer, then you've met Kyra, right?"

She blinked. Apparently, there would be no escaping Kyra's ghost on Mykonos. "Yes, I have."

"What's she like?"

"Hey! That's two questions," Thea said, lifting her voice in protest.

Kassandra looked at the boy and said apologetically, "She's got a point," before nodding at Thea and saying, "So what's your question, then?"

"What's Kyra like?"

Hero worship, is what it was. Kassandra had to snort with amusement, despite how every mention of Kyra clanged against her heart, making it ring hollow and false like a piece of miscast bronze. And now a dozen shining, expectant faces wanted her to describe their hero in glorious detail.

"She's smart. Very smart. Fierce, too, and braver than anyone I've ever met," she said, none of it even close to describing the real thing, the essential Kyra, the way her muscles slid over her bones with no wasted movement; the way she could go so still, as patient as a Sphinx; the way her tooth caught on her bottom lip when she grinned, which happened often when she was relaxed and never when she wasn't; the way her mind sliced problems into chunks and put them back together into solutions...

"Is she nice?" one of them asked.

Then the gates opened, and questions came at Kassandra all in a rush.

"Can she really shoot an arrow through a man's eye from a hundred paces?"

"Did she burn the fort down all by herself?"

Kassandra held her hands out again. "Hold on," she said, waiting until the chatter died down. "I'll answer your questions, but first you'll have to answer one of mine." She pointed her thumb over her shoulder at the shipwreck behind her. "What happened to that ship?"

One of the older boys spoke up. "The Athenians made it wreck on the beach." He was close to Phoibe's age, his body still catching up to his spindly limbs, and his eyes looked at her from under dusty curls.

"Where did the stuff on the ship go?"

"The Spartans took a bunch of it with them." He started bouncing his weight from foot to foot, while his gaze kept shifting between Kassandra and the wreck.

"I'm looking for something that was on that ship," Kassandra said. "A helm. I don't care about the rest of it."

His bouncing stopped. "We took all of it."

"You?" She gestured at the assembled children.

"Well, we helped. The big kids tore it down and we dragged it back to camp." No mention of any adults.

"Will you take me there?"

The children glanced among themselves. "Meli might get angry," Thea said.

"I'm sure it'll be fine once this Meli and I have a chat."

"You don't know her. She gets angry a lot."

"Take me to her." Kassandra would find out what sort of anger she was up against soon enough.

.oOo.

The camp huddled in a smoky, forested hollow between the ribs of the hills above the beach. She smelled the smoke first, followed by the sharp stench of sewage, which faded before they reached the first ramshackle hovels at the camp's edge.

As soon as the first huts came into sight between the trees, the children who'd brought her from the beach scattered in every direction, joining dozens and dozens of other children roaming about the camp, some running around at play, others dragging wooden planks and lengths of rope behind them. Joyful shrieks cut through the hazy air, and the sound of wood pounding against wood echoed through the trees. The shipwreck had been a boon, its raw materials being used to reinforce crude huts made from rough-cut tree branches and pine boughs, all of them clearly the work of children.

Young faces stared at her as she approached the camp, none of them older than Phoibe — and then Kassandra was seven years old again, passing through the orphan camp on the outskirts of Sami for the first time, a stranger surrounded by wary, distrustful gazes on every side, sizing her up, reading her signs. Without Thea or any of the other children from the beach to vouch for her, she could only hope that her reputation as the Eagle Bearer would serve her here as well as it had earlier.

She held out her arm and whistled for Ikaros, knowing he'd been following her through the forest, and once he settled onto her hand, she gently moved him to her shoulder. "I know it's not your favorite perch, but humor me, okay?" she told him.

Then a voice called out to her: "Misthios, over here." An adult's voice, so unexpected it made Kassandra's head swivel in search of its source. A woman cradling a baby stepped out from behind a tree to Kassandra's right, beckoning her to follow, and she led Kassandra deeper into the forest, to a small clearing where the sounds of shouting and laughter weren't as loud.

"What is this camp?" Kassandra asked.

"It's Podarkes's garden. The fruits of his reaping." The woman may have been an adult, but there was something off about the way she spoke. Her eyes darted around, as erratic as the flight of insects.

"Orphans? All of them?"

"Yes."

"And who are you?"

"My name is Otonia. Someone has to care for the littlest ones," she said, gently rocking the baby in her arms. "That someone is me. The others look after each other, until they grow old enough to join the rebels like their hero, Kyra."

"Who feeds them?"

"Kyra does. Sends supplies, too, when she can spare them." Otonia's eyes glittered. "Many whispers of your deeds float on the wind, Eagle Bearer. Many whispers. And secrets, too. Dangerous ones."

"If you know something, spit it out."

Otonia lowered her voice to a whisper so faint Kassandra had to lean in close to hear it. "Kyra's a hero to these orphans because they think she's one of them. How wrong they are!"

Kassandra narrowed her eyes. "What are you saying?"

"There's a house beneath a walkway in the drowned city. Been boarded up for ages. Sneaky sneak your way in. But hurry before Podarkes's men get there first."

"This better not be a waste of my time."

"No waste, misthios! Only danger for Kyra. Better _you_ find out before someone else. All you need to know is in that house." The baby wiggled and began to fuss. "Shhh, little one. We're going back now. The crowd's already waiting for our guest."

Otonia was right: a crowd was waiting for them at the edge of the camp where the first huts began. The children moved aside to let Otonia pass, and she carried the baby into the camp, leaving Kassandra behind.

By Kassandra's rough count, there were four, maybe five dozen children staring at her, along with a group of youths who stood at the front. She recognized Thea next to one of them, a lanky girl with straw-colored hair who looked about fourteen. Two boys of similar age stood to either side.

The lanky girl spoke first. "Who are you?" she demanded.

Thea tugged on her tunic and whispered, "She's the Eagle Bearer!"

"Wasn't asking you," the girl said as she flicked Thea's ear.

Thea winced in pain and clapped a hand over her ear.

Kassandra crossed her arms. "But Thea's right, though. I am the Eagle Bearer."

"What do you want?"

"Do you speak for everyone?"

The girl glanced at the boys to either side of her, then leveled her gaze at Kassandra and said, "Well enough."

"Then do me the honor of telling me your name."

"_You_ can call me Melitta." Everyone else called her Meli.

"And you can call me Kassandra."

"You didn't answer my question, Kassandra." Gods, was there something in the water that made little girls grow up fierce on Mykonos?

"I'm looking for something, and I think you have it."

Melitta turned and gave a dismissive gesture to the others. "Beat it!" she said. "The misthios and I are going to talk."

The children dispersed like bees leaving a hive, but Kassandra knew curious eyes would follow her wherever she went. Melitta gestured for Kassandra to follow, and together they walked between the hovels, deeper into the camp.

"What is it you're looking for, Eagle Bearer?"

"A Spartan helm. Korinthian style, with a red crest."

"Yours?"

"A friend's."

"We might have it." Melitta led her through the chaos of huts, woodpiles, crates, and other detritus, until they reached a larger, shed-like building that faced out towards a clearing that served as a yard. What appeared to be a ship's brazier burned by the building's doorway, and Kassandra thought she saw bronze glinting in the darkness within.

"How long did it take you to strip the ship?" Kassandra asked.

"Many weeks. But we got most of the valuable stuff in a couple of days." They would have had to. Scavengers could smell drachmae in the water from leagues away. "Wait here."

Kassandra raised her hand to her shoulder, letting Ikaros hop upon it, but he only stayed long enough to spread his wings and take flight. He landed on the mossy roof of the shed, turning his head this way and that.

A short while later, Melitta emerged carrying three helmets in her arms. "Hope you can figure out which one's the right one."

"It's supposed to have the letters 'M' and 'T' scratched inside it."

Melitta shrugged narrow shoulders and handed her one of the helms. "You'd have to tell me."

Kassandra rejected it immediately; it was too new to have seen battle at Thermopylai. The second helm had nothing scratched inside it, but the third did, a faint "M" and "T" at the back of the neck. Gouged and battered, it had taken on a faint greenish tinge after its saltwater bath, but it was Thaletas's missing helm, and it would be hers after she negotiated its release.

"This is the one. How much for it?"

"Two hundred drachmae — and your sword."

Kassandra had to admire Melitta's moxie. The Wolf of Sparta's kopis was worth far more than this helmet would ever bring in on the open market. "Fifty drachmae. My sword's not part of the deal."

"Two hundred. And you'll tell Kyra I'm ready to join the rebels."

Kassandra looked at Melitta again. Tall for her age. Skinny. Given time, she'd grow into her lankiness and end up with a build similar to Kyra's: lean as a dagger. She had dirt under her nails and the swollen knuckles of someone used to doing hard work with their hands.

"Are you?" Kassandra asked. She set Thaletas's helm on the ground near the brazier, then nodded at the blade sheathed at Melitta's waist. "Show me."

The dagger appeared in Melitta's left hand almost instantly. The smooth draw was promising, but her left-handedness was what Kassandra found interesting. Melitta was self-taught. No teacher or parent would have allowed that hand to become dominant. With practice, she could use it to her advantage, just as Kassandra did every time she fought with a blade in each hand.

Kassandra drew her spear, grinning as she took a few steps back, giving them room to circle the yard. Small faces began gathering around the perimeter. They'd have an audience.

Sparring with live blades was dangerous even at half speed, and here she faced a youth of uncertain skill who was determined to prove herself. Kassandra stayed on the defensive, turning aside Melitta's swipes while she backpedaled in a circle. She wanted to see how Melitta moved: how she balanced, how she kept her feet under her, how she positioned herself relative to her opponent. And when Kassandra had seen her fill of that, she wanted to know how Melitta would react when pushed.

"Is that the best your stinger can do, little bee?" Kassandra said.

Melitta's frustration had been growing with every attack Kassandra parried, and Kassandra's jibe had needled her to anger. It was meant to. The swipes came faster, with less balance and control behind them. Time for Kassandra to show some teeth. She waited until Melitta's blade swung towards her, then caught it with the edge of her spear, whipping her wrist in a tight circle that ripped the dagger right out of Melitta's hand and sent it skidding across the dirt.

Melitta shook out her wrist. "It's not fair. You're taller, and your arms are longer."

_"Fair?"_ Kassandra said, and without warning she lunged at Melitta and used her foot to sweep the girl's legs right out from under her. She landed hard in the dirt, Kassandra standing tall above her. "Nothing's fair."

Melitta's eyes blazed with outrage, and she leapt back to her feet.

Kassandra drew her sword, flipped it so its point hung towards the earth, and offered it to Melitta, hilt first.

The girl took it and swung it experimentally.

"A longer blade gives you what?" Kassandra asked.

"Reach."

"Now _you_ have the advantage."

Kassandra leapt out of the way of the first swing, parried the next, and then, as Melitta tired herself out with ineffective attacks, Kassandra gradually took the lead, engaging with combinations of strikes from various directions that Melitta tried her best to copy.

When they came to a halt a short while later, sword against spear, Melitta was panting. "It's heavy."

Kassandra smiled. "It only gets heavier the longer a fight wears on. The first few moments are all about speed and technique. After that, endurance." The sparring session had warmed up the long muscles of her legs and arms, and gotten her blood pumping. It had been far too long since she'd done this for fun, and guiding Melitta had been more enjoyable than she'd expected. Maybe she'd spar with Phoibe the next time she saw her.

Melitta handed back her sword, and looked at her expectantly as she returned both blades to their sheaths.

"You're not ready..." Kassandra began.

Her face crumpled like a banner falling to earth, but then she set her jaw and stared at Kassandra. Her eyes may have been blue where Kyra's were dark, but they were just a different shade of determination. "I want this. I'm not going to spend my life raising goats."

"I wasn't finished. You're not ready _now_, but with training and practice you could be. I'll talk to Kyra." Kassandra stooped to pick up Thaletas's helm from where she'd left it, then untied her coin pouch from her belt and tossed it to Melitta. It would be more than enough. "I'm curious — what will you use the drachmae for?"

A variety of emotions rippled across Melitta's face. "Cloth. The little ones go through tunics like the seasons." She could have been Kyra ten years ago. She could be Phoibe five years from now.

Past and future blurred together. Kassandra tucked the helm under her arm. "I'll talk to Kyra. I promise."

.oOo.

The rebel hideout was on the way back to the city, and Kassandra had a helmet to drop off and an orphan to talk to Kyra about. At least that's what she told herself, as she slipped between the rocks at the entrance and nodded a greeting to the rebel sentries standing watch.

She knew she was a fool, and that Kyra was the last person she should see right now. And yet her feet carried her through the tunnel of stone at the cave mouth, and down the wooden steps to the central chamber.

_If only you'd come here before Thaletas..._

Kassandra had come in second, and yet here she was in disbelief.

A dozen rebel fighters sat in scattered groups around the central chamber. She spotted Praxos seated on a bench near the entrance, sharpening a sword on a whetstone.

He looked up as she approached. "Misthios! We missed you last night." He set the blade aside and grinned at her. "I was hoping we'd have our rematch."

"We'll have it soon," she said. She glanced around. "Is Kyra here?"

"No, she's been gone since sun-up. Don't know where."

"Know when she'll be back?"

He shook his head. "Nope."

She lifted the helm. "This is for her."

"Go on and leave it," he said, throwing a look behind him at the corridor that led deeper into the cave.

When she reached the doorway to Kyra's chamber, she paused and took a deep breath, then brushed aside the fabric that served as the door. She stepped into cool air, still and lifeless, scented faintly with wax, papyrus, and old ink. It reminded her of rooms she'd seen in Delphi and in Athens, filled with scrolls from wall to wall, rooms full of secrets.

Kassandra shivered, then set the helm on the table where they'd planned their attack on the fort; where their legs had almost, but not quite touched under the table; where the hours had passed like moments.

A moment was all she wanted to spend here, and she walked out to the corridor and returned to Praxos.

"Can you give Kyra a message when she returns?"

"Of course. What is it?"

"Tell her... I'd like to speak to her. Soon, if possible." Then she told him where Kyra could find her later and bid him farewell, and when she emerged, blinking into the afternoon sunlight, she knew exactly where she had to go.

.oOo.

Mykonos City was old, founded in the age when giants walked the earth and the gods were still young, and it had been built up over time in layers, buildings piled on top of buildings, its ascent prompted by the slowly rising seas that had made the lower levels uninhabitable. The submerged buildings were called the drowned city, and Poseidon had claimed them as part of his ever-growing kingdom.

Kassandra stood in cold seawater up to her shins, contemplating the heavy planks that criss-crossed the entrance to the house she'd found under the walkway, just where Otonia had said it would be. Whoever had boarded up the door had meant it; not only were the planks thick, but so were the iron pins that held them fast to either side of the doorway. She drew her spear and used its tip to probe between the boards, looking for any looseness or weak spots. There were none.

She stepped back, sheathed her spear. The waters of the drowned city were still and cold, shielded from the tides and waves by the breakwater of the port. She knew that if she looked off the edge of the submerged walkway she stood upon, she'd see the clear water retreat into darkness. How many secrets lived in those ancient depths?

She flexed her fingers, and then her legs were moving, the long muscles of thighs, hamstrings, and buttocks driving her forward like a sledgehammer. Her shoulder slammed square into the center of a plank with a solid thump that echoed off the still water around her. The board shuddered and bent inwards from the blow. Good. She did it again, and again, until the board was loose enough for her to work her fingers underneath an edge, giving herself enough grip to rip it from the doorway. After that, removing the rest of the planks was easy.

She had to step up to enter the room. The stone floor was dry, but in another year or two the water lapping at the threshold would rise high enough to trickle across the floor. She stood unmoving for several moments, listening to the water dripping from her greaves onto the stone and the far-off hum of the city.

The air inside the room was damp and stale, smelling of brine and a darker, mustier decay. It worked its way through her nostrils and sat malevolently on her tongue. Tomb air.

A low shelf ran along the wall to her right, and she pulled the torch she'd picked up at the market from her belt and placed it on the shelf so its oil-soaked rags hung over the edge. A spark from her flint set it ablaze, and she lifted it up and surveyed her surroundings.

The room hadn't held much to begin with, but someone had ransacked it anyway. Shelves hung off the walls, shards of pottery lay in scattered piles, and a pattern of brown smudges formed a track across the floor, from the far corner of the room to the doorway she was standing in. She knelt beside the tracks and drew the torch close. They could have been old blood, but it was hard to tell.

In the corner, the broken remnants of a large wooden chest rested beside a large, oblong stain on the floor in the unmistakable shape of a body, its flesh and bones long dissolved to dust. Something metallic glinted where the body's chest would have been, and she reached down and lifted a triangle of iron, sharp and light in her fingers. The tip of a spear. This room had witnessed a hard death, violent enough for a spear to hit bone — perhaps a sternum, or maybe a spine — and snap like a broken twig. And then, the body had been left out in the open to rot in the ultimate affront to the gods.

A set of stairs climbed to her right. They brought her to the upper floor, and a small room, ransacked like the first.

She swept the torch around her. More pottery. Broken wood. An old blanket, next to what looked like dolls—

They _were_ dolls: two of them, made of wood, smaller than half a handspan, arms and legs swiveling on knotted strings. She brought the larger doll into the flickering light of her torch. A child's hands had carved the wood into the rough shape of a woman's form, and had scratched the letter "M" into its back. The smaller doll looked more like a child, and when Kassandra turned it over, the letter "K" stared back at her.

She blew out the breath she'd suddenly been holding. _"K" for Kyra?_

She opened the pouch at her belt and placed the dolls inside.

Torchlight painted the walls orange, her shadow huge like a great black beast. She tried to imagine Kyra as a child, this place a home, lively with light and happiness, Kyra running up the stairs, little legs pumping, her cheeks puffed with exertion...

A golden-yellow glow on the floor caught her eye. A small fragment of papyrus, crumpled into a ball. Uncrumpled, the words made no sense. They began abruptly, at a torn and ragged edge: "—o shut your mouth", "—my house again", "—both to Hades." Threatening words, even without context.

She paced the room, looking for more. Nothing among the pottery, nothing among the wood, or the shelves. Nothing, until she kicked the blanket aside and sent another glowing ball skittering into the light. She arranged the flattened fragments on her palm. There was clearly a third piece still missing, but now there were enough words for her to guess the note's meaning.

Dianthe, I pay you ve o shut your mouth and stay awa my house again, and I will se both to Hades. -P

The threatening words, the casual cruelty, the means to board up a problem and make it go away. "P" had to be Podarkes.

..._both to Hades._ "M" and "K". Mother and child. Why would Podarkes go to such lengths to hide the existence of a child, only to threaten its life?

Unless... the child was his. _"K" for Kyra._

The implications were stunning. Dizzying. The words began to swim before her, and she read them again and again, just to be sure.

Could Kyra have known all along? Her singular focus on killing Podarkes had seemed genuine enough, but she'd also shown herself to be a skillful liar when she wanted to be. Skillful enough to carry such a heavy lie for years? Decades?

And if the rebels ever found out, they'd turn on Kyra in an instant. Blood was everything to some people, even if no one ever had a choice in that matter.

She tucked the fragments inside her pouch, next to the dolls already there.

A child's dolls. Two scraps of papyrus. Together, they revealed Kyra's secret. Together, they could put her in grave danger. And now they sat in a pouch at Kassandra's belt, waiting for her to figure out what the fuck she was going to do with everything she'd just learned.

.oOo.

Barnabas's olive grove was every bit as beautiful as he'd said it was: stately trees running in careful rows across the rolling hillsides, their leaves shining silvery-grey in the late afternoon sun. The sea was a backdrop of pale blue. In another hour, the light would soften and the crowns of the trees would turn to a honeyed gold.

He'd shown her the farmhouse where he'd been born, the pole barns where he'd worked the harvest as a boy, and then the grove proper, where he and his two brothers spent the off hours of their youth running wild between the trees, playing demigods and titans and generals.

They'd walked a slow circle around the farm's inner grounds, and when they looped back around to the entrance of the grove, he was telling her how the farm had passed down from his parents to his eldest brother.

"When he died, his widow sold the farm and returned to her family on Delos." His lips stretched, frowning, and his eye glimmered with old grief and unshed tears. "She offered to sell it to me first, but what would my sea legs do with a place like this?"

"I'm sorry."

"It's for the best. I'd never be here to work the land, and there's nothing sadder than good farmland left to waste." His frown curved upwards. "No, Poseidon gave me the gifts of his seas. Even now, I can hear the waves calling."

"Every ship needs a port. Perhaps one day this'll be yours again."

"I like the way you think! Perhaps you're right." He was quiet for a moment, then he reached out and rested a hand on her shoulder. "There _was_ something else I wanted to talk to you about, Kassandra."

"What is it?"

"You need to be careful with Gelon. There's a soft heart underneath that crabshell of hers."

She threw up her hands. "For the last time, nothing happened between us!"

"You spent all night flirting with everyone on the crew, and she took you up on what you were offering. No shame in that — it's a beautiful thing!" His eye twinkled merrily. He was enjoying this far too much.

"Kassandra did _what_ now?"

Kassandra's eyes widened at the sound.

"Kyra! Good to see you," Barnabas said, as Kyra joined them at the entrance. Kassandra hadn't even heard her approaching.

"Barnabas! If I had known you'd be here, I would've brought that song by Sappho you asked me about."

"Kassandra doesn't always mention every detail."

"No, she doesn't." They both turned and looked at her, and she wondered how it was possible to become the outsider so quickly.

"What brings you all the way out here?" he asked Kyra.

"Kassandra said she wanted to talk to me."

"Oh she did, did she?" Barnabas's good eye traveled from Kyra to Kassandra and back. Then he gave them a knowing look and said, "Gelon will be _so_ disappointed."

"You _malaka_," Kassandra growled.

"I've kept you long enough, Commander," he said, and then to Kyra, "We'll trade songs another time." Then he bowed with a flourish, and headed back up the road, whistling a jaunty tune.

Leaving Kassandra alone with Kyra.

She hadn't even decided what she was going to say yet. "Let's find somewhere to sit," she said. It would buy her time.

Further up the hill, they stopped at a level patch of grass beneath an ancient olive tree, its trunk like petrified smoke twisting up into limbs that spread outwards in a wide circle. Sunlight filtered through its crown of leaves and dappled the ground with yellow light sliced by blades of shadow.

Kyra folded herself down onto the grass, and Kassandra chose a spot a safe distance away, outside of easy reach, where she wouldn't be able to feel the warmth of Kyra's skin or smell the laurel in her hair.

She was still figuring out what to say when Kyra spoke first.

"Did you really sleep with this... Gelon?"

That wasn't the question Kassandra had been expecting. "Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. What's it to you?" Sharp words from her sharp edges.

"Nothing. Forget I asked."

Pensive silence. Kyra sat with a hunter's stillness, her chest barely moving in and out as she breathed, her patience infinite.

It was Kassandra who shifted restlessly, who picked at the grass with her fingers, who finally cracked under the weight of the silence. "I didn't sleep with anyone," she said. "I just got very, very drunk."

Kyra turned to her. "I'm sorry." She even seemed like she meant it.

"You didn't pour the wine down my throat." Kyra had certainly inspired it most of the way there, but Kassandra had done the rest despite knowing full well that getting drunk never took the right memories away in the end. She shrugged. "Barnabas and the crew have been enjoying a good laugh at my expense." She could do this, she decided. She could sit next to Kyra at this distance and pretend her heart wasn't trying to squeeze itself out between her ribs.

"Must've been a rare sight," Kyra murmured.

Kassandra felt herself being studied, but she kept her gaze fixed on the grove of trees on display before them. The sunlight had shifted enough to burnish the treetops on the far hillside to bronze, and the sea had darkened to a rich carpet of blue.

"You found Thaletas's missing helm. Why?"

"He asked me to look for it. I found myself near the wreck of his ship. I tracked it down and brought it to you." She said it knowing she hadn't answered the right question.

Kyra sat quietly. Waiting. Expecting more.

"I heard something... while I was searching for that helm."

"What about?"

"You, actually."

"Oh?"

Kassandra finally turned and faced Kyra, at the moment when her words had deserted her completely. "I don't know how else to say this."

"Now you're worrying me."

"Do you know who your father is?"

The question took Kyra aback. "No," she said, carefully. "I don't remember him, and he was never around. My mother told me he was a soldier, but every time I asked about him, she said he was far away." Her forehead creased in confusion. "What's this about?"

Kassandra reached into her belt pouch and pulled out the scraps of papyrus and the wooden dolls, and handed them over wordlessly.

Kyra cradled the dolls in her palm and pieced together the fragments. A tremor passed through her hands as she read them, making the arms and legs of the dolls clack together softly. "Impossible," she said under her breath. Then louder, and to Kassandra, "What sort of joke is this?"

"It's not a joke."

"These were my dolls. Where did you find them?"

"While I was at the orphan camp, a woman told me to search an abandoned house in the drowned city. That you'd be in danger if I didn't. So I went, and I found these dolls and these scraps."

"You were at the orphan camp? What woman?"

"She said her name was Otonia."

"Otonia? She teeters on the edge of madness."

"She was right about what I'd find in that house," Kassandra said, gesturing at the scraps. "In the wrong hands, even this would be enough to discredit you."

"There's no proof of anything here."

"That's true. But you know how powerful doubt and suspicion can be."

Kyra lifted her eyes and stared out over the grove. "Dianthe was my mother. I can still hear her screams. A storm of blue armor and red blades tore through our home, appearing out of nowhere." Whatever she was seeing, it wasn't golden leaves and gnarled trunks and rolling hillsides.

Kassandra stayed silent.

"I had to run through her blood to escape. I never returned to that place." She was trembling now, and Kassandra had to resist the urge to reach out to her, to pull her into her arms.

A rust colored outline on the stone. A body left without dignity. "It's good that you didn't."

Kyra said nothing for a long time. Eventually, her trembling slowed, then stopped, and her neck and shoulders lifted and straightened, as if someone had pulled her up and replaced her spine with the shaft of a spear. "I will never believe that man is my father," she said, her voice as tight and set as the muscles in her jaw.

With the evidence no longer out in the open, Kyra could believe whatever she wanted.

She tossed the dolls onto the grass and tucked the scraps into the pouch she kept tied at her waist. "You could have made a lot of drachmae with this, but instead, you brought it to me — even though you really don't want to see me right now. Why?"

"Like I said, it could have put you in danger. Now it won't."

"You didn't answer my question properly, earlier. About Thaletas's helm."

"What is this, an interrogation?"

"I ask because you don't give up anything about yourself willingly." She leaned forward. "Tell me why you went to Thaletas."

"I don't know," Kassandra said, but she shook her head as soon as the words crossed her lips, knowing they were false. "No, I take that back." The shadows of the leaves quivered in the breeze, an army's worth of dark little blades waving back and forth. "If I'm going to come in second to someone, I want to know who beat me."

Silence.

"It gave me an excuse to talk to him. See him with his men. Learn more about him." She was dangerously close to babbling. She closed her mouth.

"And did you?"

"Yes. He's a fine match for you, I think. He'll treat you well, as you should be."

Kyra sighed. "This was never a competition."

Oh, but it was, from the moment Kyra's knife sank deep into that pillar next to Kassandra's head, the first time they'd seen each other, all those days ago.

"Look at me, Kassandra."

She hadn't noticed the iron-dark smudges under Kyra's eyes until now, and there were fine lines at their corners where her skin was drawn tight. That was as much looking as Kassandra could manage. Easier to watch the blades of shadow wage ineffective war against the blades of grass.

Kyra slid closer, a movement she made graceful somehow, and she reached out and lifted Kassandra's chin. "You're not the only one who drank too much last night."

Kassandra didn't know what to say to that, caught between the fingers that held her chin and Kyra's eyes, as black and bottomless as still water under a moonless sky. Then the fingers moved, sliding over her skin as Kyra's hand cupped her cheek. It felt so good it made Kassandra close her eyes and draw in a breath. _You breathe life into me._ She could lose herself in that feeling.

When she opened her eyes again, she said, "If you don't want me, please don't do this."

Kyra pulled her hand away, placed it in her lap, studied it like she'd never seen it before. "I don't know what I want." Kassandra's cheek was still warm where she'd touched it. "Or maybe I do." Her face clouded over like a spring storm, emotions churning, churning. "All I know for certain is that when I'm alone, I think of you."

"Don't do this," Kassandra whispered. Hope was a living thing, and Kyra was playing with her by keeping it alive, batting it between her paws, toying with it.

"I need time to think. By myself."

"All right."

"I'll think. Figure out what I want. Then I'll find you."

"When?"

"Soon." She smiled gently. "I promise."

Kassandra nodded, then looked away. The trees on the far hillside now wore crowns of golden fire.

Kyra climbed to her feet. "Kassandra?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for telling me. Here. Like this."

Kassandra nodded again but said nothing. She felt the air move as Kyra moved and listened to her footsteps fade, and after a long time had passed and the golden fires had gone out and the sun had set into twilight, she looked down at the grass, at the impression that would soon disappear as if Kyra had never been there at all, and saw that Kyra had taken the dolls with her.


	16. And the Currents Collide

On the first day after Kyra asked for time alone, Kassandra took the Adrestia and sailed to Siros, just because it wasn't Mykonos, and they'd dropped anchor in the deep, still waters of a lonely cove, surrounded by sheer rock walls. She spent the evening on the deck, staring at the stars and listening to the sailors on the watch laugh and tell stories late into the night, and every so often, a boulder would break free from the upper reaches of the cliffs and come crashing down into the depths.

On the second day after Kyra asked for time alone, Siros became Tinos, one Silver Island interchangeable for another, like drachmae scattered across a table of blue waves. That night, she went into the city, found herself a kapeleion, and ended up with two women in her lap and no place to put them, for neither of them moved like Kyra did, or spoke like Kyra did, or felt like Kyra did. They were soft and pliant where her hands longed for slim, taut muscle, and instead of her belly gathering heat it sat as inert as a lump of half-formed clay.

On the third day after Kyra asked for time alone, Kassandra stood at the Adrestia's helm and watched Mykonos grow from a dark blot on the horizon while the setting sun lit the waters around her ablaze with orange. The deck swayed, ill-tempered beneath her feet, and she told herself she was a fool for letting this happen, for becoming so vulnerable, for wasting so much time.

"And the currents collide," Barnabas said quietly from over her shoulder. "Two of them, sweeping in from east and west. It'll be a bumpy ride all the way to the dock."

The stone cliffs of northern Mykonos shone in the sunlight like a golden fortress, guarded by the skeletal fingers of wrecked ships reaching up from the waves. The Adrestia's course would take them right to the threshold of that rocky graveyard, and Barnabas would have to thread the ship through dangerous rocks and erratic waves on the way to the old dock outside the Spartan camp.

"Hang on! We're coming 'round!" Barnabas called out, and Kassandra clamped her arm around the nearest rail just before the ship turned hard to port and the deck tilted precariously under her feet.

The ship righted itself, pulled along by a current fast and strong, Poseidon's hidden hand threatening to drag them past the dock and back towards open waters. Then, Barnabas gave a shout, and the crew moved as one, digging their oars into the water so the ship turned sharply to the starboard side, the deck rolling hard enough to push her up against the rail. The aft of the ship swung around like a hammer blow, and then they sat outside the current, in calmer waters easily navigated by oars.

"Hot _damn_ that was a fine piece of sailing!" Gelon shouted from the foredeck as the Adrestia's hull nudged up against the rope-wound pilings of the dock.

Kassandra climbed down the steps from the helm and helped the crew maneuver the gangplank out onto the dock, where a Spartan soldier who wasn't Thaletas was waiting to meet her.

The soldier turned out to be Thaletas's lieutenant. "Greetings, Eagle Bearer," he said. "Smooth sailing, I hope?"

"Close enough."

"There's someone here waiting to see you."

She hoped it wasn't Kyra. "Thaletas?" she asked.

"No, he's gone to visit the rebels."

Now she wished it _was_ Kyra, so her hope could cling to separated geographies. She gritted her teeth and focused on the soldier standing before her, noting how battered his helm was, and how its nosepiece was bent away from true. It kept her from thinking about Kyra and Thaletas together in the same place.

He gestured towards a man on the beach behind him. "One of Kyra's lieutenants. He's been waiting here all afternoon."

She instantly recognized the man's muscled bulk as he strode across the beach on his way to meet her. Praxos.

They met on the sand at the end of the dock. She nodded a greeting and said, "What brings you all the way out here, Praxos?"

"Misthios. You and Kyra seem to have made me your messenger, much to the surprise of Hermes." He seemed more amused than irritated. "Kyra says to tell you Podarkes offered up a temporary truce, and that she's chosen to accept it."

Kassandra tried not to let her surprise leak into her voice. "A truce?"

"Aye, and not all of us are happy with it. We thought we had him cornered."

"We still do. This is only delaying the inevitable."

"Hope you're right. It's only for seven days, is all."

Why would Kyra do this? Maybe the evidence Kassandra had given her had rattled her more than she'd shown. Could it have rattled her into showing a truer set of colors?

"There's more, misthios."

Kassandra made a _go on_ gesture.

"She says she's going hunting tomorrow. Wants you with her."

"Hunting."

"Our stocks are low. We usually rotate the hunting amongst ourselves, but Kyra volunteered to take the turn this time."

Hunting. While Podarkes still breathed. "Did she say where I should meet her?"

"At the Altar of Artemis at sunrise."

"I'll be there."

A truce and a hunt. Neither made much sense, but it wasn't like she'd been around to witness those decisions being made. Whatever Kyra's reasons were, she'd likely find them out tomorrow.

"Will you be staying here in camp tonight, Praxos?" she asked.

"No, misthios. I need to get to the city."

The city? "Safe travels, then."

"Safer now, if the Athenians keep their word. If not, there's always this." He pointed to the enormous mace slung across his back.

She returned to the Adrestia just in time to see the sun set, and she crossed the deck, braced her forearms against the rail, and spent a long time watching the sun drag the colors out of the sky.

Morning was a long way away.

.oOo.

Kassandra arrived at the Altar of Artemis under night-shrouded skies that had just begun to soften with the pale light of dissolving stars. The altar belonged to a small shrine, whose graceful columns glimmered in the darkness, lit by oil lamps long burned low. Any other time it would have felt like a sanctuary. But now, she shivered, more from apprehension than the chill in the air or the dew soaking her feet. On the other side of the shrine, a figure knelt before the altar, head bowed in prayer. Kassandra's stomach twisted. Even from here, she knew who it was.

Kyra's voice hit her as she walked between the shrine's columns. "Keen-eyed Artemis, guide my bow, and I pray to you with all my heart that Kassandra doesn't scare off the animals with her heavy footsteps." Her voice had gotten louder over the last several words, with a particular emphasis on _heavy footsteps_.

Despite herself, Kassandra smiled. "I thought I was being quiet."

Kyra stood up from the altar and turned around. She was dressed in an old chiton, with a long length of roughspun linen and a few loops of rope wrapped across her body. Her bow and quiver were slung over her shoulder and a dagger hung from the belt at her waist. "If that was you being quiet, we'll have nothing but trampled grass to eat for dinner."

"I don't need to pray to the gods to hit my targets."

"They've been known to disguise themselves as animals. I just like to warn them I'm coming. Because when I take aim at something, I don't miss."

"Sounds like a challenge," Kassandra said. It was irresistible, sparring this way with Kyra. It nearly made her forget the question that hung over them both.

Kyra looked her over in the lamplight. "Do you usually wear armor to a hunt?"

"You didn't say _what_ we'd be hunting." So Kassandra had prepared for both human and animal quarry, donning her armor, slinging a bow and quiver onto her back along with her spear but leaving her sword behind.

"Ibex. And we're not going to catch any by standing and chatting," she said, stepping lightly up the path back towards the shrine.

Kassandra caught her by the arm as she passed. "Wait."

A dark eyebrow arched over eyes that looked at her expectantly.

Kassandra wasn't Kyra; she couldn't pretend things were fine between them while waiting for an answer, especially not when her stomach was already gnawing itself raw. If there was bad news to be had, best get it over with now. "What did you decide?"

Kyra paused, then said, "I decided that I want us to go hunting."

Kassandra blew out a quick, frustrated breath. "Is this some kind of test?"

"If you want to consider it that way you can," Kyra said, her eyes drifting down to Kassandra's hand on her arm. Then her voice softened. "But I'd rather think of it as getting to spend some time with you."

The sudden spark in her chest was hope, Kassandra knew, but she didn't dare try to light a fire with it. All she could do was let the glowing ember keep the cold at bay long enough for her to see what would happen next. She released Kyra's arm, and gestured for her to take the lead.

They started out on the road, the sky brightening above them while the trees and bushes shed the meddling of human hands and grew wilder with every step away from the city, and once they reached the forest proper, Kyra led her under the canopy of trees and into another world, hushed and hazy and dreamlike, caught between slumber and awakening. It made Kassandra stop to take it all in: the muted greys of a forest without sunlight, the rising hum of insects warming up their wings, the damp air clinging to her skin.

Kyra stopped and looked back at her, grinning once she realized what Kassandra was doing. "Dawn's mysterious beauty," she said.

"In all I see before me."

A flush darkened Kyra's skin. "Can you shoot arrows as well as you throw out compliments?"

"You'll see soon enough, once you show me where the ibex are. I know the hunting grounds on Kephallonia as well as my own skin, but this island remains a mystery," Kassandra said. She chose her next words carefully, curious to see what reaction they'd provoke. "In this I must... defer to your expertise."

Kyra's chin lifted, as if catching an interesting scent. "As well you should," she said, lips curving into an enigmatic smile before she turned away. "The game trail we'll follow is just up ahead."

The trees were older in this part of the forest, big pines that had to stretch high to reach the sun, and once there, greedily stole most of the light for themselves. The underbrush wasn't as thick, and the game trail was wide and easily traveled.

"There's a spot down here where I used to hunt as a young girl," Kyra said. "It was hunt or starve in those days."

"Same for me. Started out catching and cooking rodents."

Kyra laughed, a short, amused _ha_ that could only come from someone who'd tasted that gamy, desperate meat. "They do make a good soup. Hunger's an excellent spice."

"It is."

They walked the trail until the trees opened up into a meadow, where a stream ran down from the mossy green slopes skirting the rocky bluffs above. Mist hung over the stream and meadowgrass, while the clouds on the horizon glowed with pinks and oranges, like pigments smeared by the hands of giants.

Kyra stopped and knelt at the edge of the meadow, within the shadow of the trees. "There's a herd that sometimes stops here for a drink in the mornings," she whispered. "We'll wait and see."

This must have been how Kyra had come by the vast reserves of patience she could summon at will: by waiting for her quarry to present her with a chance to strike, the experience of countless hunts where failure meant going hungry. Kassandra had seen Kyra wait before — at the weapons cache on Delos, and in Barnabas's olive grove, where Kassandra had been the one to crack under that first, heavy silence. She wondered how Kyra did it, how she could sit there utterly still, in the world, yet outside of time. And she wondered what thoughts drifted behind those focused eyes.

It was hard enough to have patience, and harder still to be so close to Kyra, kneeling in the currents of her breath and aching with the scent of her hair. Kassandra's senses pointed at Kyra of their own volition, her ears and nose already lost causes, her eyes valiantly trying not to sneak glances, her skin and tongue — oh gods, it was hard not to wonder what Kyra's skin tasted like. She clenched her fists and took a breath, deep and slow. Kyra's eyes remained intent on watching the clearing, and Kassandra was glad one of them was paying attention to the hunt because an ibex could have danced in front of her and she likely wouldn't have noticed.

After the mist had burned away, and the first rays of sunlight began to shine over the shoulder of the bluff, Kyra shook her head and sighed. "We'll have to climb to the herd," she said.

The trek took hours, Kyra guiding her on a roundabout path that kept them downwind of the herd's favored grazing spots, but eventually they climbed to where the grass gave way to rocks, where the ibex's surefooted agility let them move up and down the dizzying precipices with ease — daring predators to follow.

"There," Kyra whispered, pointing to an outcropping high above. Ibex, grey as the stone around them. The long, ridged horns sweeping over their backs made them look perpetually in motion, as if they were always about to take a leap.

The herd was larger than she'd expected, close to two dozen males, females, and young. The males were scattered across the highest parts of the bluff, while the females stood guard and the kids scampered within the protective circle in between.

Kyra turned to her, speaking so quietly Kassandra had to strain to hear her though they crouched shoulder to shoulder. "Which would you choose?"

This question _was_ a test. She studied the herd. The males were outside of bowshot and it would be difficult to move into their range without spooking the rest of the herd. A female, then. One without young. "That line of them in front. Third from the right."

"The older female?"

Kassandra nodded.

Kyra grinned and patted her knee. "Don't miss."

She readied her bow and checked the wind and angles. It would be a tricky shot now, with a tiny margin of error. Or, she could wait for a better one, but it would take patience. She smiled at that.

Kyra was watching her. This was, of course, part of the test. _If you want to consider it that way, you can._ But now she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd misjudged what this test was actually about. Not about putting an arrow into an ibex's heart, or saying all the right things. Something else.

She probably should have been nervous, knowing she was being judged on something she couldn't prepare for, or at least as distracted as she was in the clearing, now that Kyra was so close she was practically looking over Kassandra's shoulder. But her hands were steady as she lifted her bow and nocked an arrow; and her breath was steady as she waited patiently for the ibex to turn at the angle she wanted; and her heartbeat was steady when it finally did turn, and she drew back the bowstring, took aim, and shot.

It wasn't perfect — the ibex took a handful of steps before collapsing onto its knees — but it was close enough that the rebels would eat, and eat well, as long as she dealt with the carcass before the meat went bad.

"It's going to get warm soon," Kassandra said. The sun was already shining on the slopes below them.

Kyra nodded. "We'll have to quarter it now before bone sour sets in." She glanced at Kassandra. "Do you want to, or shall I?"

"I've a feeling I'd learn a thing or two if you did it." True enough, but she also wanted to see Kyra handle a knife in a way that didn't involve throwing it.

Kyra grasped the ibex by the base of its horns, dragging it around so it lay on its back with its head pointed uphill. Then she drew her blade and went to work.

The first cut revealed that Kyra was competent at dressing a kill, but it was the second cut that proved her an expert, as her blade sliced the ibex open from genitals to ribcage with impressive speed, but precise enough to slide past entrails and organs without nicking them open. She cut away the skin, then split the carcass into four parts, exposing the meat to cooler air.

She unwound the length of roughspun from across her shoulders. It turned out to be five separate pieces of fabric: four pieces for the quarters, and the fifth piece holding the backstrap and all the meat she could salvage near the neck and spine. Soon there was nothing left of the carcass except a few bones and guts, and even those would be food for scavengers.

"It's no surprise Artemis favors you," Kassandra said quietly, mindful of the old edicts that guided Kyra's hands: take only what you need, be grateful for the sacrifice, and let nothing go to waste. Kyra said nothing, focused as she was on tying the fabric into place around each quarter, but a faint smile crossed her lips.

"There," Kyra said when she was finished, wiping her bloody hands on a scrap of cloth as she surveyed the bundled quarters. "That's going to be a load."

"I'll carry it," Kassandra offered.

"Absolutely not. It weighs as much as Praxos."

"It's not quite _that_ heavy." Closer to a regular man than Kyra's giant lieutenant. Nothing she couldn't handle. She started taking off her bow and quiver.

Kyra wordlessly accepted Kassandra's gear before holding out a length of rope and her blade in return. Kassandra sliced at the legs sticking out from each quarter and threaded the rope through the cuts between tendon and bone. Then she used the rope to tie it all together into one massive bundle she could lift and sling over her shoulder.

Kyra reacted to Kassandra's feat of strength by laughing to herself and shaking her head. "Heavy things," she said. "I guess I _am_ paying you." She stepped in close, close enough for her arm to brush Kassandra's elbow, and pointed across the slope. "See that dark line running downhill? It's an easy path back down to the forest from there."

Traversing the slope around the bluff took effort and concentration, and neither of them spoke while they searched for safe footing across the mossy rocks and loose stones. They crossed over cliffs, grassy patches covered in flowers, and one slope above a dizzying drop where Kassandra had to kick steps into the sod and hope they'd hold her weight plus that of the ibex she carried.

Eventually, they reached the forest at the bottom of the bluff, and by the time they arrived at the entrance to the hideout, it was long past midday and Kyra still hadn't told Kassandra what she'd decided.

Kassandra set the ibex on the ground and worked her arm and shoulder in a circle, stretching out cramped muscles while Kyra watched her silently. Their eyes met, and Kassandra's stomach twisted tighter, her skin prickling as if it no longer fit her. She opened her mouth, closed it, then said, "I guess that's it, then." It wasn't what she wanted to say at all.

Kyra crossed her arms.

"You probably have important matters to attend to."

More silence, but Kyra now wore an expression of amused patience.

"I should get back to my ship."

"Do you really mean to be rid of me so quickly?"

"I don't know what you want from me!" The words snapped out of her like a rope stretched past its breaking point.

"What I want from you," Kyra repeated.

Kassandra steeled herself against rejection, imagining the ways Kyra could cut her open with a few words, knowing that the current of her feelings ran deeper than simply wanting a tumble in bed. Gods, it would have been so much easier if _that_ was all she wanted, where a _no_ could be met with a smile, and a goodbye, and the knowledge that there were plenty of other women in Greece.

"What I want is for you to relax," Kyra said, giving her an exasperated look. "Do you honestly think I'd be doing all this if my answer was _no_?"

"I don't know! You won't tell me what you want. I'm beginning to think you're playing with me."

Kyra sighed. "For all your claims otherwise, there are some things about you that are very, very Spartan."

Kassandra was about to ask her what she meant by that, but Kyra held up a hand.

"I'm sorry I abused your patience, and I didn't mean to make you feel like I was playing with you." She was thoughtful for several moments. "Would it help you to know that we'll be drinking our wine later?"

The Pramnian wine Kassandra had found on Delos? She'd forgotten all about it. "We will?"

"We will, if you want." She looked so pleased with herself Kassandra suspected that wasn't the only thing she had planned. "There's a hunter's hut near the ruins by the beach. It'd be quiet — and we'd be alone."

Alone. The thought of it left Kassandra breathless, and her stomach unknotted for the first time in days. The two of them. Alone.

"What do you say?" Kyra asked.

Kassandra smiled. "I'm all yours."

Kyra's smile matched her own. "Good. Now, if you don't mind picking up that ibex again, you can bring it inside while I find someone to take care of it. And then we can get cleaned up, because you and I look..." Her eyes flicked between them. She didn't need to say they were covered in gore.

Kassandra crouched down and hefted the ibex up onto her shoulder before she stood up, and she enjoyed the feeling of her muscles bunching and pulling tight, her strength being put to work.

"Show off," Kyra said with a grin. She beckoned for Kassandra to follow. "I can't wait to see Praxos's face when you hand over that ibex."

.oOo.

A stream flowed through the deepest reaches of the cave the rebels had made into their hideout, and like all water this close to the underworld, it was crystal clear and shockingly cold — good motivation for a quick bath. Kassandra finished scrubbing blood off her shins and bit back a gasp as she sluiced clean water over her legs. She was already shivering.

She grabbed a linen towel from a nearby boulder and dried herself vigorously, drumming her sluggish blood awake again, and the snap of moving fabric wafted the scent of the soap Kyra had given her up from her skin: laurel. She closed her eyes and breathed in, just as she had when she first recognized the scent at the beginning of her bath. She smelled like Kyra now, and it was going to drive her mad.

She wrung her hair dry as best she could, then wrapped the linen around herself and walked out from the bathing nook and into the larger chamber.

Kyra chose that moment to enter the room. She was still wearing her old chiton, but a towel was slung over her shoulder. "The ibex is as good as dinner, and your tunic is nearly dry," she said. "I'm not sure I got all the blood off your armor, but it'll only make you more intimidating."

"It never worked on you."

"You weren't trying with me." Her eyes wandered over Kassandra, lingering on Kassandra's throat and collarbones, and she twisted a finger around one of the damp ringlets in Kassandra's hair. "You look good like this."

"Oh?"

"Don't _oh_ me, and don't distract me from my bath." She flashed a rakish grin. "Your gear's in my chamber. Wait there and think about all the things you want to do with me later." Then she patted Kassandra on the cheek before she departed, leaving sparks in her wake.

The ember Kassandra had been carrying since dawn ignited, deep in her belly, and all the desires she had denied since her first night in Mykonos came in from the cold and gathered around the flames. A single evening wasn't enough for _all_ the things she wanted to do to Kyra, but she could cross a few off the list.

And she certainly wasn't shivering anymore.

A short while later, she was seated at the table in Kyra's chamber, damp in some places more than others. She wore her newly cleaned tunic and armor, and an empty plate of what had once been bread, olives, and cheese lay off to one side. The food had done little to ease her hunger, and she was feasting on the mental image of a naked Kyra writhing with pleasure in her lap when the actual Kyra returned from her bath, dressed in a clean chiton, fizzing with the energy of the freshly scrubbed.

"I need to get out into the sunshine. That water is—" She stopped short and peered at Kassandra. "Where were you just now?"

Kassandra smirked. "A place I think you'd enjoy a great deal."

"Then it better be in your plans." She looked around the room. "Need anything else before we leave? No? Then let's go. I'm freezing."

Kassandra didn't need to be told twice.

.oOo.

The walk to the ruins was more of a stroll, as Kyra led her through grasslands and trees on a route well away from any roads. Above them, the sky was bright and endless, and Kyra basked in the sunshine at every opportunity. She seemed freer, more relaxed, inhabiting a middle ground between stillness and intensity that Kassandra hadn't seen until now.

And she told stories: about mercenaries who'd come to visit Mykonos, about wild hunts and run-ins with Athenians, including one tale of how, as a youth, she'd stolen Podarkes's favorite horse, sold it, and shipped it off the island before he'd even noticed it was missing. She spoke with her hands, in graceful gestures, and in another life she could have been a poet, spinning tales to an enraptured audience.

Her audience now may have been smaller, but no less captivated.

Kassandra knew Kyra was telling these stories for a reason, and when Kyra stopped speaking and looked at her with an expectant grin, she was ready with a story of her own, one that began with the line "I was a god, once," and ended with her reenacting her booming commandment to the poor basketweaver from Sami: "Now, go home and wait for fate to intervene!"

Kyra's laugh was rich and limber, and it lingered in Kassandra's ears and made her want to keep hearing it. "'Wait for fate to intervene' — that's a stretch, coming from you. So what did you end up doing?"

"Oh, I followed her back to her home, saw her baskets, and her broken wagon, and her four hungry children outside... So I snuck in and put the bandits' loot on top of her bed."

"A miracle. And I can't even fault her for falling for your terrible acting," Kyra said. "I know how it feels to have your prayers suddenly answered." She took Kassandra's hand and pulled her along. "We're almost to the ruins, and I can hear the sea saying hello."

Kyra led her through a small stand of palms that grew along the beach, to where the ruins lay in solemn silence, the dark, weather-worn stones spilling out from beneath the trees onto the sand. Someone had built a simple hut from the remaining walls, filling the gaps with salvaged stone and orienting the doorway so it opened to the sea.

Kyra squeezed her hand. "Wait here," she said, and she ducked into the hut, coming out a few moments later carrying a blanket, a krater of wine, and a battered bronze cup. She spread the blanket out a few steps away from the door, then sank down upon it and motioned for Kassandra to sit beside her.

Kassandra leaned back against the wall and watched the waves curling onto themselves while Kyra poured the wine, and when Kyra offered her the cup she made a _you first_ motion.

Kyra's eyes widened as she took a sip. "That's _amazing_," she said.

She was right — the wine was excellent. Sweet, but not cloying, with enough heft to it that the taste lingered on the tongue. They traded drinks until the cup was empty, then started in on another, Kyra stretching out on the blanket to make herself comfortable, while Kassandra enjoyed the gentle warmth that wrapped itself around her muscles like soft tufts of wool, the wine releasing the sunshine its grapes had taken in on the vine.

Kyra shouldered the burden of keeping the conversation going, sticking to lighter subjects, asking Kassandra the occasional question and giving her the space to interject if she wanted, and Kassandra found her words growing from a trickle into a free-flowing stream, as she told Kyra about her years in Kephallonia, about Markos and his constant scheming, and how between the two of them they'd raised a four year old named Phoibe.

"And where is this Phoibe now?" Kyra asked.

"Athens. It's safer there. And I'm not the best influence, anyway." Kassandra remembered Phoibe frozen in place, her eyes wide, mouth open, and the sound of the Monger's blood dripping onto marble.

"Safe enough with the way this war is going, but your influence is something you'll have to learn to live with. There are probably thousands of children out there who want to be the Eagle Bearer."

"What about all the children who want to be Kyra, leader of the rebels on Mykonos?"

She laughed. "All none of them?"

"There's an entire camp full of orphans who'd say otherwise."

The sun was low enough on the horizon now that Kyra's flush shaded her cheeks a darker bronze.

"Do you know of a youth there named Melitta?" Kassandra asked, and then she told Kyra of Melitta's efforts to organize the camp, and how the girl had tried to bargain joining the rebels into the price of Thaletas's helm.

"So you think I should send for her?"

"I think she could prove useful to you after Podarkes is gone. You'll need to assemble a staff if you're going to run this island."

Kyra's brows knit in confusion. "Me? Run this island?"

"Don't tell me you haven't considered it."

"The Archon of Mykonos is supposed to be elected by the people."

"And who, exactly, do you think they're going to vote for after you get rid of Podarkes?"

Kyra leaned over and took the cup from Kassandra's hand. "I think you've had too much to drink if you think they'll elect me Archon."

Helios had begun his final headlong dive into the waves, and he'd lit the world with molten gold in his last burst of glory. But for all the golden strands of light now twined in Kyra's hair, the color was ephemeral, and fading quickly. Kyra was moonlight, silver and shadows, and her time was coming fast.

"I was looking forward to being alone with you, but what I should have been looking forward to was having all this time," Kyra said quietly once the sun had disappeared into Tethys's embrace. "Nowhere to be. Nobody to watch out for."

"Thanks to this truce."

"I was wondering when you were going to ask me about that." She drank and held out the cup until Kassandra accepted it. "Thinking I'm putting pleasure before duty? I'd be lying if I said I wasn't tempted. When I'm with you, I think of things other than vengeance."

Kassandra would be a hypocrite if she judged Kyra for that. "No, but I don't have to tell you he's buying time for something he'll spring on us later."

"Maybe I'm buying time too, hmm?" Kyra mused. She glanced down, running her fingers over the patterned weave of the blanket. "Maybe I knew you weren't going to sit around waiting for me to make a decision." She smoothed out a wrinkle in the fabric. "But the reason I agreed to that truce was knowing it would give me time to move families to safer places. Just in case you and I don't succeed."

Kassandra remembered Praxos saying he had business in the city. "Praxos. He has family here, doesn't he."

Kyra nodded. "His brother's family lives in Mykonos City. Several of the other fighters too, and I've no doubts Podarkes will go after them if given the opportunity."

"The Adrestia's at your service."

"I don't think we can afford you."

"I need drachmae, yes, but I prefer to get it from those rich enough not to miss it. Send everyone to the Spartan camp, and I'll talk to Barnabas."

Kyra gave a nod of gratitude, but something had shifted in her eyes. "How much drachmae are you after, anyway?"

"Do you know the name Xenia of Keos?"

"The Pirate Queen?"

"The very same. She wants fifteen thousand drachmae before she'll give me the information I want."

Kyra blinked. "What information could be worth that much? A lost treasure? The keys to a kingdom?"

"She knows where my mother is."

It took Kyra a few moments to absorb that revelation. "Your mother? And she wants that much for it?" Her voice rose with righteous anger. "You couldn't just beat it out of her?"

Kassandra stifled a smile at the sight of Kyra's anger on her behalf. "Xenia isn't one who would break under that sort of persuasion. The only thing that motivates her is treasure and drachmae."

"You're searching for your mother." Kyra looked at Kassandra like she was watching the broken pieces of a pot reassemble itself. "How is it this came to pass?"

"It's a long story."

"We have time."

A chill ran through Kassandra then, the muscles in her back tensing in its wake. "Let's build a fire first, while we still have light," she said. She would need the warmth to tell a cold story, and after they'd gathered dry wood, and after she'd cut a pile of wood shavings to lay under the kindling, and after she'd struck her flint to set it all alight, she sank heavily onto the blanket next to Kyra, lifted the cup, and drank deep. Only after all that did she begin to speak.

"When I was seven years old, my father threw me from Mount Taygetos and left me to die."

Kyra sat up with a start. "What?"

She told Kyra about the night she'd answered a knock on her family's door to find the Elder priest and a dozen elite soldiers on the doorstep. She told Kyra how she and her mother, father, and baby brother were forced to walk the path up Mount Taygetos to the cliff where Sparta's justice was carried out. She told Kyra about the death sentence that was passed down on her brother, with no evidence, no chance to argue against it, just the Oracle's word become law.

Her voice was harsh and relentless. "The Elder priest tore Alexios from my mother's arms. 'To prevent Sparta's fall, the child must fall first!' he said. And I heard my mother pleading, 'He'll do us no harm, he'll help us.' And the Elder held Alexios out over the edge, and I just... stomped as hard as I could on the foot of the soldier who held me, and I broke from his grasp and ran to the Elder, and in trying to grab Alexios I slammed into the Elder hard enough that _both_ of them went over the edge."

She closed her eyes and shook her head.

"Did I push the Elder, or did I push them both? All I'll ever know for sure is that I failed to save my brother.

"Then the remaining priests called me a murderer, and they were right: the Elder priest was the first man I ever killed. They called for my head. Told my father his blood was tainted until he brought me to justice." She took a breath, then another. "My father once called me the light, the pride of our family. But it turned out he loved duty more than anything else, and he grabbed me and held me out over the chasm. I stared into his eyes and watched that light go out, and then he threw me off the cliff."

She turned to Kyra then, and asked, "Have you ever fallen from a height?"

"From trees and rooftops. Nothing serious."

"Drops like those are over in an instant. But when you fall from a great height, everything slows down. You have time to think, time to feel." The memory she'd been observing from a distance like a spectator at a play suddenly closed in around her. "That's what I remember of it: terror." Muscles frozen, breath locked within her ribs, the sound of the wind whipping past her ears. Everything sharp and clear.

Kyra reached for Kassandra's hand, her face asking permission, and Kassandra nodded, stiffly, and realized she'd gone rigid, her muscles and breath reliving the memory. She felt her hand being pulled into Kyra's lap and cradled in warm fingers. It thawed the frozen muscles in her chest, and her ribcage opened, and she exhaled, then inhaled, slowly and carefully, and she found she could speak again.

"I knew I was going to die, but I didn't know _when_. And I had a lot of time to think about that." She smiled, grimly. "And when I finally landed, everything went black, like someone had blown out the only torch in a cave."

"But you didn't die."

"I didn't die," she said. "Many people meet their end at the foot of that cliff. The weak. The unfit. The criminal. I always thought I survived out of dumb luck: I landed in a pile of the dead." The putrid smell of death sprang through her nose and landed in her mouth, the memory somehow as vivid as the real thing.

"They risk angering the gods, leaving the dead that way."

Kassandra swallowed back the bile rising in her throat and concentrated hard on the points where Kyra's skin touched hers. Warmth on the back of her hand, warmth on the pad of her thumb. She was here now, with Kyra, and not at the foot of a cliff surrounded by cold stone. "Spartans don't consider those thrown from Taygetos to be human."

"How convenient. But if that pile didn't save you, what did?"

She drew her spear with her free hand. Held it up so the firelight cascaded across its dark, oil-slick steel. "This did. I think." She spun it in her fingers, the blade swinging around in a tight circle of orange light.

"You _think_?"

"I'm not in a hurry to jump off any temples without it, just to see what would happen." She grinned at Kyra with dark humor. "I think it protects me, somehow. And when I fled from that mountain that night, it was all I had left in the world."

"Kephallonia's not exactly close to Lakonia. How'd you end up there?"

"I made it to the sea and stole a boat. Poseidon did the rest."

"So you washed up on the shores of Kephallonia, spent twenty years there, and then what?"

"Someone offered me a contract to kill my father, so I left."

Kyra stilled, but a hard glint surfaced in her eyes. "Did you?"

Kassandra slipped her spear back in its sheath. "I found him in Megaris, had him in my hands, and it would have been so, so easy to kill him then. But I couldn't."

"What stopped you?"

"I don't know. I just couldn't do it." She watched the flames, remembering how the heat of her anger had vanished to empty frustration. "So I let him go — and then he told me he wasn't my real father." She laughed, and it came out short and bitter. Still so hard to believe even after a year of knowing. "Only my mother can tell me that truth."

"Ahh. And now we've come full circle."

Kassandra drank from the cup before setting it down on the blanket between them, the dark liquid trembling in time with the arrival of the waves. She felt Kyra's thumb begin to move across her knuckles, and she had to fight the urge to close her eyes and melt into the feeling of Kyra's skin sliding against hers.

"You've never told anyone this." A statement, not a question. Kyra could read her as easily as a scroll.

"No."

"What made you tell me?"

"Because you asked. Because you said I never gave up anything about myself willingly." And also the reason she didn't say out loud: _Because I wanted you to know._ Trusting Kyra with the story of her past had shifted something inside her, like a tilted block of marble squaring true, bringing her a feeling of ease, darkness turning light.

Kyra's smile was sly. "I find it easy to talk to you, too."

"Similar lives, similar struggles."

"What other benefits are there to having so much in common, I wonder?"

Now Kassandra understood how Kyra could read her so easily: because Kyra had lived those words and found them already familiar. She turned her hand so her fingers rested against Kyra's inner wrist. The pulse that beat there was strong — and accelerating.

Kyra glanced down at Kassandra's fingers. "You've been doing that to me all day. Quickening my heartbeat."

Kassandra's blood stirred to match. "Is that so?"

"You distract me. I could hardly focus this morning, waiting by the clearing. All I could think about was you."

"I thought you were paying attention."

"I thought _you_ were."

Apparently the entire herd of ibex could have danced in front of them this morning and they both would have missed it. Kassandra laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. They were like two lovestruck youths, too nervous to make a move.

Very well, then. Judging by the heartbeat pounding under her fingers, a nudge was all Kyra would need. "Remind me, what did you decide, again?" she asked.

Kyra's answer was a kiss, sudden and breathtaking, and it was somehow exactly what Kassandra expected and not at all what she'd thought it would be. She'd expected Kyra's want, hungry and bruising, but not her own reaction: gods, it made her ache in the endless depths of her belly, made her want to give in to Kyra's mouth and hands, and as she leaned back and let Kyra's weight push her down onto the blanket, what struck her like a thunderclap was that Kyra had taken the lead.

No woman had ever done that to her before. They'd all just assumed _she_ would — and she had, happily giving them all what they wanted.

But Kyra's wants were of a different flavor, and it felt so good to open her mouth and match the fervor of Kyra's kisses, to reach up and bury her fingers in Kyra's hair, to tilt her head back and expose her throat to Kyra's lips and tongue and teeth, to hear her own breathing go ragged.

She felt a solid thump against her chestplate and Kyra's voice in her ear: "I want you out of this. Now."

"I want you in a bed."

Kyra sat up, straddling Kassandra's hips. "The mighty Kassandra, afraid of a little bit of sand?" she teased, rocking her weight back so it landed right on Kassandra's mound.

Kassandra fought off a groan, then grabbed Kyra by her wrists and held them in place as Kyra struggled against her. "With you, it won't be a little bit of sand," she said, and without waiting for a response, she stood up from the ground, lifting Kyra along with her.

Kyra wrapped her legs around Kassandra's waist, and laughed. "Heavy things."

"You're not heavy," Kassandra said, and she proved it by carrying Kyra into the hut and to the pile of blankets Kyra had so thoughtfully prepared.

Kyra slid off her hips, then stood there, studying Kassandra in the dim firelight sneaking in through the doorway. She brushed her fingertips against the crimson linen draped over Kassandra's shoulders, and asked, "May I?"

Kassandra smiled _yes_, and Kyra unclasped the fabric, pulled it away, and let it drop to the floor. She turned her attention to the leather ties that held the shoulder pieces and chestplate in place, her dextrous fingers quickly working them loose, and once all the bindings were free, she stripped Kassandra out of all of her armor, and her tunic, and undergarments, until Kassandra stood naked before her.

Kyra's eyes drank Kassandra in, and her lips parted as she drew in a breath, and her nostrils flared, and then she reached back and untied the cord that held her chiton in place, unwound it and stepped out of the fabric.

No poet alive could describe how Kyra looked then, for there were no words that could capture how beautiful she was in the flickering light and darkness, shadows feathering across her throat and shoulders, down her breasts and the plane of her belly and her lean flanks.

Kassandra's mouth went dry and her skin vibrated with a subterranean thrill, and when Kyra took her hand and pulled her down into the blankets, she went gladly and gratefully, delighting in the feel of skin against skin as they lay on their sides with their limbs entwined, nothing between them, nothing in the way, their bodies squaring true.

For a long time, all she knew was Kyra's mouth — _against her own, along her jaw, at her throat_ — and Kyra's hands — _brushing her shoulders, raking her back, stroking her hip_ — as slick heat grew between her thighs, Kyra making her want and want and want with every touch that avoided the one place where Kassandra burned the most.

What Kyra wanted was for Kassandra to beg. It had been a long, long time since someone had worked her over like _that_, and she grinned at the fleeting memory.

Kyra slid away abruptly, putting distance between their bodies, denying Kassandra her hands and skin. "What's so funny?" she demanded.

After being wrapped up in Kyra, the sudden separation was shocking, and she nearly begged right then for Kyra to touch her again. But that would have ruined the fun, so she added a dash of defiance to her grin and said, "I like this game. But you're going to have to do more than that if you want me to beg."

Kyra's lips curved dangerously. "Oh, I want you to," she said, and she slid herself against Kassandra, her body fitting perfectly, her thigh slipping between Kassandra's legs to grind hard muscle against Kassandra's clit. "You'll give me that, and more." Kyra's hand stroked the back of Kassandra's neck before it pulled her down to meet a demanding mouth, and it was like opening up to a windstorm, hot breath blowing through her in great gusts, leaving her dizzy and disoriented with want.

The storm blew south to her breasts, where Kyra added teeth, first in nibbles, then in bites, but Kassandra only felt them as pressure instead of pain, and her lack of reaction made Kyra stop and look at her curiously.

"I don't feel it like you would," Kassandra said quietly. She'd been gifted resistance to all but the most excruciating pain, feeling pricks and stings in the moment, the pain delayed until after the cuts scabbed and the bruises bloomed. She wondered if she would have taken pleasure in this had she felt it.

Kyra nodded in understanding, but then she smirked and said, "I can motivate you in other ways."

She put her full weight behind the thigh she'd pressed between Kassandra's legs, and Kassandra got the hint and rolled onto her back, smiling at the sight of Kyra in full glory above her, Kyra's hair cascading in dark waves to tickle her chest and breasts, Kyra's hand moving lower...

Fingers brushed her clit, slid through folds slick with accumulated wants, all of them on full display, welling up in the juices around Kyra's fingers as she stroked and teased, and Kassandra's belly became a bowl, filling with heat, wanting more and more and more.

Kyra's tongue burned a trail down Kassandra's breasts and across the plane of her stomach while her fingers worked Kassandra's clit in deliciously maddening ways that soon had Kassandra jerking her hips in desperation.

Both of them knew there was nothing stopping Kassandra from reaching down and taking what she wanted, just as both of them knew Kassandra wouldn't do such a thing.

Kyra had captured her without bindings.

She groaned from a place deep in her belly, caught right on the edge, right where Kyra wanted her, right where Kyra stayed for what felt like hours, bringing her close then pulling away, over and over until her back arched like a tightly strung bow and her breaths turned into shuddering gasps.

"All you have to do is say it." Kyra made giving in sound so reasonable.

Kassandra's skin was aflame. Her clit, too. Kyra had done this to her. Kyra had—

"I know what you want. I'll give it to you. Just say it."

She felt hot breath so achingly close to her clit. Kyra's mouth, so, so close, and she imagined Kyra's lips, Kyra's tongue—

"Say it."

It broke her, thinking about that tongue. Wanting that mouth. Her hips tilted desperately, and she took one ragged breath and spoke all her want and longing into existence: "Kyra. Please, let me come."

Kyra didn't move.

"You wanted me to beg? I'm begging you. _Please._"

Nothing.

"Kyra. Please. Whatever you want. I'll do it. Kyra, listen. I'll do it."

Kyra smiled — Kassandra knew she was without even seeing it, felt it in the way Kyra's tongue enveloped her, soft as silk. She'd been trapped on the brink so long that one touch was all it took for the orgasm to engulf her, a firestorm of hot, swirling pleasure, startling in its perfection. It wrung a shout from the deepest parts of her chest and clenched her fingers into fists, and it scoured her to her bones, leaving her naked and open and throbbing in Kyra's mouth.

She lay panting for a long time, speechless. Kyra stroked her thigh, her belly, working upwards until she straddled Kassandra's hips, leaning down until their breasts brushed together and Kassandra found herself in the shelter of Kyra's hair, dark strands twined with the last of the firelight. Kyra smiled, her satisfaction reflected in her eyes, and Kassandra pulled that smile down to meet her own in a kiss, and this time it was soft and gentle.

When they finally separated again, she found herself laying in a tangle of blankets, Kyra draped across her. She could taste herself on her tongue. She smiled into Kyra's hair and said, "Well, then."

Kyra laughed that rich laugh. "Yeah. You too, huh?"

She closed her eyes, enjoying how Kyra fit on top of her. "Are you cold?"

Kyra shook her head _no_, then stretched to make herself more comfortable. Kassandra could almost hear her purr.

"But I could use more wine," Kyra said. "And we should probably light a lamp."

Kassandra didn't want either of them to move. "Let's just lay here a little while. Please?"

"I'll never tire of hearing you say that word."

She smiled and said it again, "Please." And then again, like a benediction, "Please, please, please..." and as Kyra's heartbeat surged, she felt her blood quicken in matching time, their hearts squaring true.

.oOo.

Kassandra sat on a bench next to a small table, blissfully naked, blissfully watching an equally naked Kyra lean across her while lighting an oil lamp on the wall. Kyra's breasts were perfectly positioned in front of her eyes, and her mouth watered as she imagined using her tongue to lavish them with the attention they deserved.

The lamp's wick had been trimmed to burn low, and its dim light shaded Kyra's skin the color of burnished bronze. She turned to Kassandra, and her gaze seemed to see right into Kassandra's thoughts. "I believe you said you'd do whatever I wanted."

"I did," Kassandra agreed. Then she gently pulled Kyra down to sit crosswise in her lap, and she bent her head down and kissed Kyra's neck below her ear. The taste of Kyra's skin made her greedy for more, and she trailed kisses down the graceful curve of muscle that ran from Kyra's ear to her collarbone. "And just what"— _kiss_ —"would you"— _kiss_ —"have me do?"

"I want you inside me."

She nipped the skin at the base of Kyra's throat, smiled as Kyra yelped and squirmed, slid her hand over hip and thigh until she reached dark curls, and her smile widened at what she found there: gods, Kyra was soaked already.

Kyra draped her arms over Kassandra's shoulders and watched her from behind a hooded gaze.

Kassandra brushed the heel of her palm against Kyra's clit, testing her, seeing what she would do. Kyra sighed and tilted her face to the ceiling, arching her back, offering up those perfect breasts, and Kassandra dipped her head down and feathered them with attention with the tip of her nose, then her lips, then her tongue, all while moving her palm in tiny circles over Kyra's clit.

Kyra's voice rasped in Kassandra's ears. "In me. Now."

As much as Kyra enjoyed hearing the word _please_, she apparently wasn't one to say it herself.

Kassandra circled her fingertips just outside the place where Kyra wanted them, until Kyra's hips began to rock with need, and she grinned as Kyra greedily sucked one of her fingers in, then another. But once inside, she kept her fingers motionless, enjoying the feeling of hidden muscles flexing against them, demanding more.

"Feel this?" Kassandra asked, wiggling her fingertips. "Inside. You didn't say you wanted more."

"Fuck you."

"Oh? You must be confused. I'm not the one being fucked." She pushed her fingers deeper, until she bumped up against a most hidden place, soft and spongy, and she stroked it gently, and Kyra growled from deep, deep inside, setting off a tremor Kassandra could feel through her fingertips all the way to her elbow.

"Gods," Kyra gasped, and now she was rocking her hips hard, trying to fuck Kassandra's fingers on her own.

"Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast." Kassandra withdrew until just her fingertips remained inside.

"No! Gods, no. Don't stop."

She eased herself back inside, back to the deep places, where the smallest motion made Kyra clamp down hard around her fingers. She could do this for an eternity, Kyra sitting in her lap, completely enthralled by every movement of her hand.

Kyra was whimpering now, her face hidden in the crook of Kassandra's neck and shoulder.

"Ever been fucked like this?"

"This. Isn't. Fucking." Clenched words through clenched teeth.

Kassandra laughed. "You really should get out more."

Kyra's head shot up, her eyes flashing with outrage, and she reached up behind Kassandra's head and grabbed a fistful of hair. "Fuck me."

"Are you giving me an order? I'm not one of your rebels."

She looked at Kassandra like she hated her.

Kassandra let the dangerous heat in her blood spill out in her voice. "You're going to sit there nice and quiet and still, because I want to take my time. And if you can't do that, well..." She started withdrawing herself again.

Kyra's _no_ was immediate, drawn out as if Kassandra was pulling the sound out of her along with her fingers. Kyra froze, obeying out of want, but her eyes blazed molten hot.

"Good girl," Kassandra murmured, and then she pushed herself back inside Kyra and began to fuck her, so slowly her arm didn't seem to be moving at all, every stroke one long breath being gathered and held and released.

Gods, Kyra was responsive. She quivered around Kassandra's fingers, in her lap, in her arms. She was panting, her face buried against Kassandra's neck, her breath blowing hot as a forge across Kassandra's chest.

Kassandra pressed her free hand into the small of Kyra's back, restricting her movement even further. "You're being so good, doing what you're told."

Kyra's skin pinked all the way to the tops of her shoulders and breasts.

"I know you'd rather be in charge. Isn't that right?"

Kyra didn't move. Didn't speak. The flush deepened.

"You think I didn't notice what you did earlier? How quick you were to get me under you? How satisfied you were when I begged?"

Kyra began trembling so hard Kassandra could have been holding an earthquake in her hands.

Kassandra stilled her fingers. "Tell me how right I am."

"Gods..."

She used her free hand to grab Kyra's chin, lifting it and forcing Kyra to meet her gaze. "Not the gods. Me."

Molten eyes. More panting. Kyra was tense around Kassandra's fingers, fighting so hard not to rock her own hips, fighting so hard to be good, afraid of what Kassandra would do if she wasn't. "You're right," she said through clenched teeth.

"Surely you can do better than that."

She released Kyra's chin and gave Kyra's clit the smallest taste of her thumb, and Kyra gasped and gave in. "Yes! You're right — I like being in charge." Then Kassandra fucked her hard, fucked the words right out of her. "I wanted you. Wanted to break you. Wanted someone so powerful to beg for _me_. Gods. Kassandra. Please."

There. The word she'd been waiting for: _please_.

She pulled Kyra close, their breasts fitting together, so much of their skin in common that Kassandra could feel Kyra's heart thudding and thudding.

Kassandra took Kyra to the edge, and she was so beautiful there, a view to rival that of any summit: so beautiful as she breathed, in great huffs of _yes_ and _want_; so beautiful as she writhed, mewling with hunger, slick thighs sliding over Kassandra's lap. And when Kassandra had devoured her fill of it, she took Kyra over the edge, and they both flew and flew, unafraid of falling because Kassandra knew they'd never die this way.

It took Kyra longer to come back to earth, but eventually she sagged against Kassandra's chest, voice reduced to a whimper, utterly spent, and Kassandra lifted her up, carried her to the pile of blankets, and held her in her arms.

Kyra tried to speak. "You..."

"Shh. Rest." Kyra's breath had steadied but her heart was still racing. Kassandra grabbed one of the blankets and pulled it over them both.

They dozed together for a long time, Kassandra luxuriating in the feeling of long, fine muscle matched against hers. A perfect fit. She closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of sleepy, satisfied woman.

Eventually, Kyra stirred. Her gaze was hazy, as if shrouded with disbelief. "I've been with men and women, but you... No one's ever done anything like that to me."

"You too, huh?"

Kyra laughed and sat up, and her eyes sharpened and focused as the shrouds fell away. She studied Kassandra intently for several moments, then reached for the tie at the end of Kassandra's braid, her eyebrow raised in question.

Kassandra nodded, and Kyra pulled the tie free, then began working the braid loose with her fingers until Kassandra's hair flowed freely about her shoulders.

"You look..."

Kassandra waited.

Was that a hint of shyness in Kyra's smile? "I have to steal someone else's words to describe you. 'It's not easy for us to equal goddesses in lovely form.' But _you_ do."

She pulled Kyra down on top of her and kissed her. "Honeyvoiced, they should call you."

They kissed again, and oh gods, was it ever sweet. It made her hunger grow and grow and grow.

Insatiable.

They made love again and again, but it was gentle and slow in all the ways they hadn't been until now. No games, just an equal balance of give and take between them, offering their desires up for Eros to witness, blessed by the luxury of time.

And much later, Kyra lay with her head pillowed on Kassandra's breast, tracing the lines of muscle across her stomach, already halfway to sleep, when she said, "That was..."

"What?"

"A perfect day." She turned her head and kissed the skin she found there.

Kassandra stroked Kyra's cheek. "Yes, it was."

Kyra's eyes closed, and her breathing deepened, and her heartbeat was slow and steady and strong, and when Kassandra finally drifted away to sleep, she did so by taking the sound of Kyra's heartbeat with her.

* * *

**Author's Note:** The words Kyra steals at the end of this story are Sappho's, from Fragment 96, translated by Anne Carson


	17. Mosaic

When the hazy nets of sleep fell away from Kyra and released her into dawn, she woke to Kassandra's arms wrapped around her and her cheek resting on Kassandra's chest. She'd crawled on top of Kassandra in the night, turned Kassandra into her personal bedroll, and the luxury of waking up with their skin touching and their bodies entwined was surely better than any bed of feathers and silk.

She kept her eyes closed, listening to the steady cadence of Kassandra's heart, while her own fluttered with giddy disbelief, every beat repeating _this is happening_, _this is happening_, _this is happening_.

The Oneiroi weren't playing a trick on her, disguising themselves in her dreams. This was very real. _Kassandra_ was very real: solid muscle and bone built around a fearless heart, warding her during the night they'd spent in a nest of blankets, sheltered by the stone walls of the hunters' hut by the sea.

Kassandra stirred, sighed softly, her essence returning to her flesh.

Kyra turned her head and smiled into Kassandra's skin. "Hey."

"Hey," Kassandra said, her voice sleep-thick and raspy.

Kyra's dreams of peace needed a lot more mornings where she woke up safe, happy, and in the arms of a gloriously naked Kassandra. "I'm not crushing you, am I?" she asked, gently rocking from side to side.

Kassandra's arms tightened around her. "You're not crushing me." Her chest vibrated with a low chuckle. "I don't think you could if you wanted to."

"Probably not," Kyra agreed. "I'm glad. You make a comfortable bed."

Fingertips brushed Kyra's forehead, traced her eyebrows, her cheekbone, her jaw. As much as Kassandra liked to present herself as a blunt instrument, it only served to hide a deep well of softness, one Kassandra deployed to great effect in quiet moments like this one. Kyra didn't want to move ever again.

"Second best job I've ever had," Kassandra said.

"Second best. What was the first?"

Kassandra tapped the tip of her nose. "When you ordered me to fuck you."

Kyra opened her eyes at the smile in Kassandra's voice and lifted her head so she could scowl at it. "I seem to recall that you didn't do that job the way I intended you to."

"And yet you came anyway." Kassandra's eyes twinkled.

As irritating as it was to see Kassandra so damned smug about what she'd done, the way the muscles between Kyra's legs clenched with the memory of fullness and maddening denial forced her to admit that Kassandra had every right to be. Still, it wouldn't do to let Kassandra think she'd gotten away with it. "You'll pay for what you did, you know."

"I expected nothing less from you."

Gods, that confidence. Kyra envied it, how Kassandra wore it so easily, a show of power borne of presence more than force. Since the moment they'd met, it had stirred Kyra's darker longings with the tantalizing possibility of bending someone so powerful to her will.

She sat up, straddling Kassandra's hips, and beheld the marvel of Kassandra naked in the daylight. The divine proportions of her broad shoulders and muscled waist would drive a sculptor mad from knowing they'd never be able to capture the glory of the real thing. Her hair fell loosely across her collarbones to the tops of her breasts, and Kyra longed to plunge her fingers into those strands. A fistful in her grip would let her pull Kassandra's mouth wherever she—

Kassandra had been watching her. "You want that payment now, don't you?" she said.

Kyra leaned forward, grinding herself into Kassandra's belly. "I always want." Her blood pulsed within her, her skin growing hot from holding back the flood. "I want your mouth. I want your hands."

Kassandra's chest rose and fell, her gaze steady as she turned her hands palms-up and lifted her chin, baring her throat.

And just like it had last night, Kyra's breath lodged in her chest as she watched Kassandra yield.

Kyra's want flared hard and fast, in her gut and her chest and her mouth, the sharp echo of it aching deep in her teeth. She bent down and kissed the side of Kassandra's neck, where the pulse beat near the surface, the potent thrum of Kassandra's blood vibrating against her lips. She nuzzled soft skin and laced it with kisses, drawing a rumbling groan out of Kassandra, and then she tangled her fingers in the hair on either side of Kassandra's head and kissed that beautiful mouth.

She'd dreamt about that mouth. Before the olive grove. Before the fort. She'd craved it, night after night. And she'd told herself it was an idle curiosity conjured by proximity and danger, nothing more.

Nothing more, even as she woke up morning after morning damp and throbbing.

Somehow her body had known Kassandra's kisses would leave her breathless and burning like no others had ever done, a prediction proved true, and it was happening again now, time stretching, their kiss deepening, and she grew lightheaded, her skin aflame.

Kassandra's breath was as ragged as Kyra's when Kyra finally pulled herself away. She sat upright, letting Kassandra's hips spread her thighs while Kassandra stared at her with a look that melted her to dripping. Then Kassandra lifted a hand and reached for her, but Kyra caught her by the wrist and held it.

It was astonishing, how strong Kassandra was. All that latent power within Kyra's grasp, like the string of a Titan's bow drawn back and waiting to be released. She knew Kassandra could have broken her hold as easily as brushing away an insect. Instead, Kassandra merely tilted her head and watched her.

"Don't move," Kyra said. "I want to enjoy you without any distractions."

"Are you going to make me beg again?"

"Do you _want_ to beg again?" she asked, and when Kassandra didn't respond, she added, "I think I'd rather see you obey. I'm still not sure you're capable of it."

Kassandra said nothing, but the muscles within Kyra's grip relaxed.

That was all the answer Kyra needed, and she pulled the hand down and rubbed herself against Kassandra's fingers, watching Kassandra's nostrils flare as she discovered how wet Kyra was.

Kyra raised herself higher on her knees and maneuvered Kassandra's hand into position between her thighs, drawing a wide-eyed gasp and a smile out of Kassandra as she realized what Kyra intended to do.

"You're going to give me exactly what I want this time," Kyra said, and then she slowly impaled herself, knuckle by delicious knuckle, onto two of Kassandra's fingers.

This would be no repeat of last night, when Kassandra had taken over as soon as she'd slipped inside, her skillful strokes controlling Kyra as well as any leash. This time, Kassandra's hand was pinned between Kyra and her own body, and she had no choice but to stay there while Kyra rode her as long and as hard as she wanted.

Gods, it felt good to use Kassandra like this, like an object made for her pleasure, and she exulted in the sight of Kassandra's muscles tightening in the winch of frustration, from the cords in her neck to the hand she'd clenched into a fist. Even her eyes were squeezed shut.

Kyra slowed to a stop. "Look at me."

Kassandra hesitated, then opened her eyes, and as her gaze reluctantly settled on Kyra, the blood in her cheeks rose and bloomed. The sight of it sent a thrill across Kyra's skin like the trail of a falling star. Was Kassandra actually blushing? Kyra filed that tidbit away for future reference.

Then she rode Kassandra slowly, making sure to tell Kassandra how very much she was enjoying this, by the wanton look on her face and the lewd sounds she made.

Kassandra's fingers spasmed inside her, and Kassandra groaned, hollow as a gourd. "_Fuck_," she said. "Just let me touch you."

Kyra smiled. "But you are." She clenched herself hard around Kassandra for emphasis. "And you're doing a magnificent job."

Another groan, this one sullen. Kyra's smile grew wider.

She kept going, taking her pleasure from Kassandra's helpless fingers and captive gaze, letting the pressure build until it pressed her against the floodgates of her release, seeking the final push that would open her up to its deluge.

She found it in the desperate heaves of Kassandra's hips beneath her, and in the want roiling in Kassandra's eyes, a want that surrounded Kyra like a storm blowing in from the sea. Then the gates burst open and the pleasure filled her to overflowing, in great rippling waves that carried her on and on until her thighs threatened to give out.

Breathless and spent, she eased herself off of Kassandra with a sigh and sat at Kassandra's elbow.

"You could have done that with an olisbos," Kassandra muttered, flexing her wrist and fingers.

"I thought that's what I just did." She grinned down at Kassandra, then lifted her fingertips and stroked Kassandra's jaw, tracing a line down her neck and across her shoulder. "My very powerful, very gorgeous, very patient olisbos."

Kassandra rolled her eyes. "Hopefully that settled my debt."

"Oh no, I'm just getting started," Kyra said. "Unless you want me to stop..." She stilled her fingers halfway down Kassandra's arm.

"I want you to be satisfied."

Kyra laughed. "That might be an impossible task." She'd sipped at her desire for Kassandra and found an entire sea waiting in the cup. "Tell me, what do you want this very moment?"

"To taste you."

Kyra smirked and slid two fingers between her legs, running them through her still-wet folds.

Though it wasn't what Kassandra intended, she welcomed Kyra's fingers anyway, parting her lips and sucking Kyra into her generous mouth. And then her defiance came out, in her gaze and in her tongue gliding against Kyra's skin, a challenge and a promise: a glimpse of what Kassandra would do if only Kyra would let her.

The promise in that skillful tongue was almost enough to make Kyra abandon the game and let Kassandra have her way with her. Almost. "Keep obeying me and you'll be rewarded," she said, speaking her own promise, and then she pulled her fingers free and replaced them with her lips, tasting herself in Kassandra's mouth, faint and slightly salty. Outside the door to the hut, the sea called in roaring waves, matching the pulse between her legs.

She sat up and throbbed as she contemplated her next move.

Kassandra sighed with pleasure, then licked her lips and asked, "And what is your command?"

Kassandra had a talent for shading her voice with undercurrents of meaning. This time, she'd chosen amused mockery, to match her habit of trying to provoke Kyra to irritation. It wouldn't work, of course, not with Kyra already burning with wants that left no room for anything else. But she wasn't about to stop Kassandra from trying — she'd just add the price of such insolence to the amount Kassandra owed.

She patted Kassandra on the cheek, and said sweetly, "Don't take your eyes off me, and do what I say."

In the early morning light, Kassandra's eyes were flecked with brilliant motes of gold over deepening layers of color, bronze shading into brown — a rare combination, beautiful enough to inspire poetry on its own. But her eyes were worth paying close attention to for another, more important reason: they revealed Kassandra's true emotions far better than her words or body ever did.

And right now, they were curious about Kyra's plans, but trusting enough to let her go ahead with them anyway.

Kyra took a deep breath, searching for her voice and finding it tangled within her desires. "Touch yourself," she said.

After a moment's hesitation, Kassandra did.

Kyra wasn't prepared for the sight of Kassandra fingering herself on command. How could she be? Days ago she would have said it was about as likely to happen as Artemis coming down from Olympus to proposition Kyra herself. And oh gods, it was so fucking delicious, watching Kassandra stroke her own clit while her gold-anointed eyes were compelled to stare back at Kyra, the hunger within them on full display.

Kyra caressed the underside of Kassandra's breast with her fingertips. "Don't stop. How wet are you?"

Kassandra's eyelids flickered. "Very."

"And the Spartan gift of tongues makes an appearance."

"_You're_ the one who's good with words."

"I am — and you're not impressing me. At all." She ran the pad of her finger lightly over Kassandra's nipple, back and forth.

Kassandra let out a low growl, and her eyes searched the roof of the hut, as if there might be a codex of words engraved upon its wooden planks.

"Did I say you could look away?"

Kassandra's breath was uneven as she forced her gaze back to Kyra.

"Words, Kassandra," she prodded.

"Soaked."

Kyra snorted dismissively. "Boring. Try harder."

An irritated glint appeared in Kassandra's eyes. "Ahh... Gushing... Torrential."

"Torrential. I like that." She bent down and gave Kassandra a kiss, as hard and quick as a downpour in a spring storm. Just enough to tease. "Would you rather come, or taste me?" she whispered into Kassandra's ear.

"Both."

"Good answer. You can make yourself come if you want," she said generously, and she kissed Kassandra again, softer this time, enjoying how Kassandra's mouth melted into her own, and how every one of Kassandra's moans of pleasure tasted a bit differently.

Pulling away from that kiss wasn't easy, but she had one question left on her mind, and judging by the way Kassandra was wriggling and panting, she didn't have much time left to ask it.

"Have you ever done this while thinking about me?"

"Yes." More a gasp than an articulate word.

"When?"

"Delos."

Delos. The only time they'd really been apart during that trip was the night before they'd sailed back to Mykonos. And Delos was only a few days after they'd met. Kassandra was beginning to make more sense.

She grinned. "You've been lusting after me for a while."

Kassandra shook her head. "Not just lust," she said, forcing the words out from between her teeth.

Kyra's eyes widened, but now was not the time to dwell on that revelation, not with Kassandra growling softly and rocking her hips, caught in the thrall of her need. She'd done a splendid job of obeying — better than Kyra had expected, and she deserved her reward. "How close are you to coming?" Kyra asked.

"Imminently."

Kyra couldn't help herself: she laughed in delight, laughed at the perfection of Kassandra's answer, laughed at how lucky she was to say, "Go on, then. Come." And she leaned forward and kissed Kassandra in time to feel the snap and shudder of her release, drinking from the fountain of her pleasure in great mouthfuls, feeling Kassandra's body writhe and writhe and writhe.

.oOo.

Once again, Kyra was back where she'd started: laying on top of Kassandra, drowsing in her warmth. Sunlight slanted through the hut's doorway in acute angles of gold, and the air was redolent with the scents of arousal and fulfillment, Kyra's mouth still tingling with the aftertaste of Kassandra's pleasure.

She circled her finger around Kassandra's nipple, and fought the urge to draw it in against her tongue.

Kassandra nudged her gently. "Still not satisfied?" she asked.

"Are you? You're still hard," Kyra said, flicking the nipple playfully.

"Reach down and find out how hard I really am."

Kyra's chest tightened, squeezing her voice into a whisper. "Gods, you make me want." She'd never felt anything like it, this constant hunger for someone.

Not even for Thaletas.

Thinking of him made her stomach pitch like the deck of a wind-tossed ship. He was a good man, and a dutiful lover: kind, attentive in the moment, but without a drachma of creativity, and though he was willing to suffer patiently whenever she played games of power, it was obvious they stirred nothing within him. Thaletas would give her safety and stability, a home and Spartan citizenship, if she wanted it, and after a lifetime of uncertainty, the things he offered her had been enough to cling to, even if it meant burying her darker wants time and time again. They'd shared plenty of good and happy moments that had built into something that felt like love.

Until Kassandra.

It wasn't fair to compare Thaletas to Kassandra when something greater than a mortal's blood flowed in her veins. No mortal could move like she did in a fight. No mortal could leap from the heights she did and land unscathed, magical spear or not. Kyra wouldn't be surprised if Kassandra's lineage branched from a scion of Achilleus, or Herakles. Someone whose blood mingled with that of the gods.

And how could Kyra have known her message — her arrow shot into the dark, really — would bring a demigod to their shores?

A demigod who was now stretching muscles both divine and splendid beneath her, saying, "What _I_ want is to sit up. I haven't stayed in bed this late since..."

Kyra slid away from Kassandra. "Since?" she said, prodding Kassandra to finish. She missed Kassandra's skin against hers already.

Kassandra pulled a few blankets into a pile against the wall and leaned back into them. "Since I was in Argolis, this past winter." Her voice had hitched with a slight hesitation, intriguing given such mild words. "I'd hurt my shoulder"—a minute flex of muscles within the left one told Kyra which—"and it landed me in bed for a few days. But I ended up spending weeks in Argos, waiting for it to heal enough for me to finish my business there and move on."

"I bet that drove you crazy."

"It did. I hate being stuck in one place."

"You've been stuck here for two weeks," Kyra said, nudging Kassandra's thigh with her knee, both for emphasis and as an excuse to touch her.

Kassandra studied her for a moment. "Come here," she said, reaching for Kyra and pulling her close. "This is different. I have things to do."

Kyra rested her head against the muscled plane of Kassandra's chest, and as she felt Kassandra's cheek settle against the top of her head, Kyra understood, suddenly, that as perfect as this moment was, it would never be long enough. "And once you run out of things to do, you'll be on your way," she said, the words wriggling out, slippery with the truth, before she could stop them. A few moments without Kassandra's skin next to hers had been hard to bear. How was she going to handle—

Kassandra drew in a breath. "Don't," she said quietly. "Don't think of this now."

Kyra closed her eyes and listened to the steady beat of Kassandra's heart. Fingertips grazed the skin at her temple, sweeping into her hair, again and again, until her breathing slowed and her thoughts were filled with Kassandra in the present instead of Kassandra vanishing into the future.

Kassandra's fingers drifted over to the scar on her forehead. "How did you get this?"

"You'll laugh."

"I promise I won't."

"I tripped and fell against a sculpture when I was two."

Kassandra winced. "Probably bled like Hades."

"Oh, it did. I remember the entire world turning red, and my mother scooping me into her arms as I cried out, 'Mater, I'm dead!' over and over."

"Did you really?"

"Hollered as loud as I could until she found someone to put in the stitches." She opened her eyes to the sight of Kassandra's chest rising and falling, and the red slash of the scar on Kassandra's right shoulder curving out of sight. "I don't have as impressive a collection as you do."

"I kept running into fists and blades in my youth."

"I suspect I've had more chances to run away than you have." Kyra pulled Kassandra's right arm closer, tracing the stark welts just above her elbow, three of them, like the forks of a trident. "But these weren't from a blade."

Kassandra nodded. "They were from a—"

"Lynx," Kyra said. "They're evil bastards in a fight."

"You're right, and they are." The accuracy of Kyra's answer had surprised her. "Fucker hunted me in broad daylight, and leapt right onto my back from the trees. I fought him off, but not before he tore my arm open to the bone."

"How long did it take to heal?"

"A few months. Then a while longer for enough strength to come back for me to swing a sword again." Hard, solid muscle bunched and relaxed under Kyra's fingers. "I was lucky. The physician in Sami thought I'd lose the arm, or if I managed to keep it by some miracle, that it wouldn't be the same."

A wound that severe should have taken at least six months to heal. And to escape permanent damage... It wasn't just luck that had knit Kassandra's skin together again so quickly and cleanly.

Kyra added _healing_ to the growing list of things Kassandra did better than anyone else. She thought of her own non-existent list, and how she owned hardly anything in this world, no lands, no titles. How long would Kassandra's interest in her last? A few days, sure. Perhaps a few weeks. Then Kassandra would tire of her and start looking for the exits. Kyra couldn't blame her, really. What could she possibly offer a demigod who could have anyone she wanted?

"What are you thinking about?" Kassandra asked.

Something Kyra didn't want to think about any longer, and wasn't going to share. "I'll give you one guess."

"Me, I'd wager. You look like you're trying to solve a problem."

"Nicely observed," she said, patting Kassandra's belly. "Are you learning how to read me?"

"It seemed a good idea, given how easily you can read _me_."

Kassandra was better at obfuscation than she gave herself credit for, but Kyra had spent a good chunk of her youth running errands for the hetaerae in exchange for coin — and for lessons in skills she might use to hunt a different sort of prey than the kind favored by Artemis. When it came to matters of the heart, both light and dark, the hetaerae were without peer, and from them she'd learned how to listen closely to what was said and unsaid and commit every word to memory; how to read the subtle movements of the face and body that revealed a person's desires; and how to recognize the telltale signs of a lie. Knowing how to detect a lie was the first step in learning how to tell one.

"It's a skill," Kyra said. "Like swinging your sword. It can be learned and practiced."

"Who teaches this art?" Kassandra asked. "I could easily find someone to teach me how to use a sword, or how to box, or wrestle. But I'd be hard pressed to find an instructor for reading people — beyond life's experience."

"I learned it from hetaerae."

"Really?" She went quiet, thinking. "That makes sense. They'd want to know their clients' desires."

"And weed out the ones with bad intent."

Kassandra paused, looking away at the sunlight crawling across the floor. "Did you ever think about... becoming one?" she asked, her voice softening with uncertainty, as if worried she'd crossed a line with her question.

Kyra smiled. "I may have learned some of their tricks," she said, drawing her hand down to swirl her fingers around Kassandra's clit and smirking at the resulting gasp. "But no, I never considered it. I'm ill suited for that sort of work. I don't enjoy being told what to do."

It took Kassandra a few moments to recover her wits. "You obeyed me well enough last night."

Well enough. Kyra's eyes narrowed at her choice of words. "That was a first for me."

"And also a last?"

The _yes_ sat on the tip of her tongue, and she was so close to declaring it a one-time thing, a lucky break for Kassandra, never to be repeated again, but that's not what she ended up saying at all. "I wouldn't be upset if you did something like that again."

"But then you'd demand payback."

"I would absolutely demand payback."

Kassandra grinned. "It would be worth it, just to see you squirm."

Alas, Kyra's cutting retort was itself cut off at the knees by the sound of a long, famished growl, and her reflexive glance down at her belly admitted her guilt.

"I see you remain unsatisfied," Kassandra said dryly, though a flicker of amusement passed through her eyes. "Now, did you stash some food around here along with that excellent wine, or am I going to have to go hunting again?"

.oOo.

Kyra surveyed the table with satisfaction. Of course she'd planned for their excursion to include something to eat that wasn't just figurative. So what if dinner ended up becoming breakfast. Kassandra certainly didn't seem to mind.

They'd cleaned up and gotten dressed, and Kyra had lifted the basket of food from the cool confines of the game locker under the floor of the hunters' hut, and spread its contents out across the table. Now Kassandra was sitting on the bench in the same place she had last night, watching Kyra with a smirk that left no doubts about the nature of her thoughts. It stirred Kyra's blood, that smirk, and she longed to turn it into something that looked a lot like begging.

She took a calming breath, and an idea formed within her whirling thoughts, a pattern of order pleasing in both form and content. She waited until Kassandra's eyes met her own, and then she deliberately lowered herself onto Kassandra's lap.

Kassandra's grin grew even wider, but Kyra ignored it and reached for the loaf of barley bread on the table, infusing every movement with purposeful grace, from the line of her arm to the tilt of her head as she turned her attention back to Kassandra. This too, she had learned from hetaerae, who knew how to plant seeds of desire rooted in all the senses. She smiled softly and grazed her lips against Kassandra's, smoothing away her smirk and enjoying how something so simple could make Kassandra forget to breathe.

"Is it true that in Sparta, the men always eat dinner together in a common hall?" Kyra asked.

There was a pause. "It's true," Kassandra said, a crease of confusion crossing her brows.

Kyra divided the loaf in half, then the half into quarters, again and again, stopping when she held a bite-sized piece in her hand. Old Zeno's paradox of dichotomy, with its traps of inaction, had nothing on her. She knew when to stop.

"Why is that?" she asked.

"To build kinship. Brotherhood. Spartan citizens are soldiers first, and every man eats with his unit in a communal mess hall."

Kyra uncovered a small bowl of spiced chickpeas and olive oil mashed into a spread, then caught Kassandra's gaze and held it as she feigned thought. "There's a certain... intimacy that comes with sharing a meal, wouldn't you agree?" she asked Kassandra, and then she dipped the piece of bread into the bowl, lifted it, and fed it to her.

Intimate. Gods, it was beyond intimate, feeding Kassandra morsel by morsel. As much as she enjoyed the heat simmering in Kassandra's eyes, it was those sensuous lips brushing against her fingers that struck Kyra deep and made her forget everything else.

"Eat something." Kassandra's voice drifted up from the curve of Kyra's neck, as warm as polished wood in sunlight, her lips so close to Kyra's skin it tingled with the want of them.

And Kyra did, taking bites of hearty bread and cheese, and feeding Kassandra tidbits of dried fig and raisins in exchange for kisses. And when she placed a honey-covered fingertip against Kassandra's lips, and pushed inside to meet her waiting tongue, she felt it in two places at once.

Kassandra made a sound then, low in her throat, and she moved like a powerful, caged beast under Kyra's thighs. Now it was Kyra's turn to smirk. "I see your hunger remains undiminished."

Sharp teeth scraped Kyra's skin, followed by an apologetically soft tongue, and before Kyra succumbed entirely to its charms, she pulled her finger free and claimed Kassandra's mouth with her own.

The kiss cracked her open to her marrow and filled her with molten fire, burning with its own kind of paradox. If she were a poet she'd call it glukupikron — sweet _and_ bitter — the sweetness of the moment tempered by the knowledge that it would eventually have to end.

It had been a mistake to set this table of desire so thoroughly, but Kassandra made it so easy for Kyra to forget about vengeance, forget about her duties to the rebellion, forget about revelations she wasn't at all ready to think about. "We have to stop," she forced herself to say through ragged breaths. "Or we'll never leave here."

Kassandra sat back and gazed at her curiously. "Do you _want_ to leave here?"

"No. Not particularly."

They looked at each other.

"But you have to talk to Barnabas," Kyra said gently. "And I have to tell Praxos that you've offered up the Adrestia's services."

Kassandra sighed, knowing it was true. "You're right."

Now that Kyra had opened the sluice to her pent-up thoughts of duty, they came pouring through in a rush. "I have to make arrangements to transport everyone's family to the Adrestia. And I should call on the scouts who've been watching the port to find out what they've seen. And after that, you and I need to start planning—"

Strong arms circled her waist, and Kassandra rested a chin on her shoulder. "When was the last time you had an idle day?"

"Yesterday."

"We went hunting all morning."

"That wasn't entirely work," she said, which only made Kassandra's arms squeeze tighter around her, and she tried to remember when she'd taken a day and spent it only on herself. "I don't know," she said finally. "Years. Not since the leadership of the rebellion fell to me." After that, there was always work to be done, people to direct, plans to make.

"Then how about this: I'll go and speak with Barnabas, and you'll go and see Praxos, and afterwards, we'll meet up again, because I want more time alone with you, and I'm willing to steal from duty to get it."

Kassandra was offering her a chance to honor both duty and desire. A compromise, to be sure, one that her mind railed against while her heart and loins ached to accept.

"All right," she said eventually. "There's a stream not far from here. If you follow it to its source near the Statue of Artemis, you'll find a spring-fed pool up in the rocks. It'll split the distance between the Adrestia and the hideout."

"Not back here?"

She turned to look at Kassandra, brushing stray strands of Kassandra's hair back over her shoulders and smoothing out a wrinkle in her tunic. "I don't trust myself enough to spend another night with you. Not until this is all over. I'd forget what I was fighting for."

Kassandra nodded. "I understand," she said, giving Kyra a final squeeze before letting go. "Let us hasten to our duties then, and make our reunion all the sooner."

There was food to clean up, crockery and blankets to repack, armor to don, and after they'd finished it all, Kyra followed Kassandra out to the beach. Kassandra planted her feet in the sand and gazed out across the sea. "Mykonos is definitely my favorite island," she announced as she adjusted her bracers. Somehow, it was still early enough that the morning light banded across her armor in strips of gold.

In fact, _everything_ glinted with gold, the world sparkling with excitement. The skies were bigger, the waters more inviting, and were those fewer blue sails she counted crossing the waves?

Kyra touched the small of Kassandra's back, trailing her fingers along Kassandra's waistbelt as she circled around to face her. "And you're my favorite misthios," she said, tracing a finger down between Kassandra's brows, past the scar on the bridge of her nose, to full lips that compelled Kyra to kiss them. And she did, her hand grasping Kassandra by the neck while the other slid into Kassandra's hair, and Kyra pushed her back, back against the wall of the hut, kissing her hard, until the lines in the stones began to spin and she had to hook her fingers into Kassandra's armor to stay upright.

"Did someone say we'd never leave here?" Kassandra's grin was wicked.

"Gods!" Kyra threw her hands up and stepped away from Kassandra's reach. "Go," she said, waving Kassandra away. "Go now."

Kassandra gave her a half-bow. "Don't take too long," she said, and then she strode away, leaving footprints in the sand and urgency in her wake.

.oOo.

Kyra went to the hideout. She found Praxos and saw the relief flood his eyes when she told him to start sending families to the Spartan camp where the Adrestia awaited them. She sent word to her scouts for them to report to her the next morning. She dealt with every request that had piled up while she'd been gone, from big — mediating a dispute over a gambling debt that had nearly come to blows — to small — deciding if the food budget should grow now that they were flush with stolen drachmae.

And after all that, she emerged into the sunshine and knew that more time had passed than she'd intended, long enough to make Kassandra wait.

She cursed, and then she started running.

.oOo.

The forest paths of the Daughters of Artemis covered Mykonos like a sprawling spiderweb, and Kyra had learned them as a young girl by following the heels of the huntresses sprinting ahead of her, their feet skimming the duff as they ran, vaulting fallen trees and swooping between the living ones, the earthbound in flight.

Over time, the paths had become as familiar to her as the lines on her palms. She knew how they intersected, bisected, and split; knew which of them to choose so that when she emerged from the forest, she was at the edge of a stone grotto, where waters cascaded from above to began a meandering descent to the sea. And after running like a lovesick fool halfway across the island, she stood on the bank of the stream and let the cool, misty air bathe her sweaty skin and soothe the raw edges of her breath.

She climbed the hillside to a shelf at the top of the waterfall, and when she pushed past a small stand of myrtle shrubs, she saw Kassandra waiting for her beside a pool of water surrounded by flat stone the color of charcoal. Grass and flowers grew in a patch at the edge of the stone, the purples and blues of wolf's bane, larkspur, and iris, and two young oak trees clung to the hillside beyond that, offering the grass their trembling, tentative shade.

She sat on the sun-warmed rock next to Kassandra. "I'm sorry I made you wait."

"Don't be. It's peaceful here," she said. "It reminds me of Kephallonia. I taught Phoibe how to swim in a pool like this." She kicked her feet through the water. "It was just as cold as this one too."

Kyra tried to imagine Kassandra teaching a child to swim. "What did you do, just throw her in?" she teased.

"Only the strong float in Sparta."

"Somehow I doubt that," Kyra said. She reached down and started unlacing her sandal.

Kassandra grinned. "I taught her very carefully, though I suspect she's part water nymph with how easily she took to it."

Kyra kicked her sandals off and eased her feet into the pool, hissing at the bracing cold.

"Sit here in the sun for a while. It'll feel good soon enough." Kassandra ran her fingers through the water, then flicked them at Kyra, showering her with icy drops.

She couldn't let that go unpunished. She dipped a hand into the pool and sprayed Kassandra with water, fully expecting the hostilities to escalate and readying herself for a trip into the freezing spring.

Instead, Kassandra just sat there, wearing a playful smile and a crown of silvery droplets in her hair, relaxed and at ease in a way that only made her more beautiful.

And Kyra could do nothing else but lean forward, grab Kassandra by the armor, and kiss her.

Kassandra's hand cupped her cheek, and spring turned to summer between them, time stretching over lazy days of languid heat, rich with the scent of flowers and honey.

When they finally parted, Kyra could have sworn the leaves on the oak trees had grown bigger.

Kassandra smiled like she'd tasted something wonderful, and Kyra tried picturing her without her armor and weapons, a young woman wearing a peplos, with her hair in fashionable ringlets, enjoying idle delights. Not with those muscles, Kyra decided, and not with that body, so perfectly suited for battle. And so her imagination went further back, peeling the years away, searching for Kassandra as a little girl, all sweetness and laughter — no, she'd be fierce and feral, like a wolf child roaming the Lakonian mountainsides...

Kyra laughed then, and gave up.

"What's funny?"

"I'm trying to picture you as a child, and failing."

"I was a lot shorter."

"Is that when you cultivated your sparkling wit, too?"

"No one laughs in Sparta."

Kyra rolled her eyes, knowing she was being teased. "Liar. But Spartans certainly appreciate brevity."

"Spartans see the world as a harsh place, and they have little time for anything they consider frivolous."

"Which is anything outside of battle, or training for battle, I'm sure," Kyra said. She lifted the edge of the crimson shawl Kassandra wore over her armor and rubbed it between her fingers. "I just can't see you as a polemarch, serious as the grave, duty your only concern."

A shadow passed through Kassandra's eyes, and she looked away and stared at the water for a long time. "My fa— _step_father put duty before whatever love he may have felt for our family. I don't intend to repeat his mistake." She picked up a pebble, then cast it into the depths, watching the concentric circles of its ripples spread across the surface. "Sometimes I wonder who I would have become if that night never happened. Probably a polemarch, with ambitions to become a general someday. Maybe I would have chafed at having to blindly follow the orders of those above me." She smiled. "You're not the only one who doesn't like being told what to do."

Kyra smirked.

"But it's also possible that the agoge would have beaten any willfulness right out of me. Even a year of it was enough to come close."

The agoge. Thaletas had told her of it, how he'd spent years enduring what sounded to Kyra like unimaginable cruelty, all to produce soldiers who were as rugged as the land they fought for. She hadn't known that Kassandra had gone through the same. "I thought that was only for boys."

"It is. But my mother was very persuasive. And it also helped to have the birthright that gave me _this_." Her hand reached back and drew forth her spear. She spun it in her fingers with a practiced flourish, and when it came to a stop, its handle pointed towards Kyra, inviting her to take it.

She did.

It was lighter than she'd expected, with a dagger's agility, and perfectly balanced despite its unusually long handle. Its polished metal held an iridescent sheen of oil, and as she gazed down the lengths of its blade, she couldn't find a single imperfection in its razor-sharp edges. A strange weapon, made stranger by the fact that its chronology didn't line up.

"Where did a weapon like this come from? If I didn't know any better, I'd say it was forged yesterday."

Kassandra had been watching Kyra study the blade, and the question brought her back from wherever her thoughts had taken her. "It's my grandfather's spear, broken at Thermopylai."

Thermopylai, the battle of heroes. Another piece of Kassandra's scattered past had been revealed. "He was someone important, wasn't he?"

Kassandra smiled. "You could say that."

She didn't volunteer more, and Kyra sensed enough reluctance behind it to leave the matter be. Kyra looked at the spear in her hand, beautiful and deadly, then handed it back to Kassandra. "You said this has magic within it. I believe it."

Kassandra slid the spear back into its sheath. "Ever been to Andros?"

"No."

"There's a place there, a vast chamber too big to have been built by human hands, and within it is a great forge."

"Built by the gods?"

"Perhaps. I figured out that I can use the forge to make my spear stronger, but the forge isn't driven by fire — it needs these," she said, and then she opened a pouch at her waistbelt and handed Kyra a _something_.

It was a gold colored object the shape of an equilateral triangle, with sides as long as a finger, perfect in its precision. She flipped it from side to side and hefted it in her hand. Thick as a kernel of wheat, but so light it couldn't have been made from any metal. She ran her fingers around its polished edges and found them smooth and seamless, and when she tapped it with a fingernail, it rang with a sound that wasn't wooden or metallic.

"What is it?"

"I think it's a fragment of a powerful artifact."

The golden surface of the fragment shimmered restlessly, and it left her with the disconcerting sense that she'd seen it before. She gazed at the power in the palm of her hand, marveling at its existence. "It's incredible, like fire captured in a jar. Can you imagine, being able to store power in such a small thing, and then releasing it whenever you needed it? What humans could do with something like this..."

The corners of Kassandra's lips had curved into a smile.

"Where do you get them?" she asked, thrusting the fragment back at Kassandra. "Take it, or you'll be stuck here answering my questions for an eternity."

It disappeared back into Kassandra's pouch. "I get them by killing terrible people."

"Terrible people with knowledge of such powerful objects? I feel like I should be worried."

Kassandra studied her for a long time, saying nothing.

Kyra smiled knowingly. "You don't trust me enough yet to tell me more," she said, ignoring the quick pang through her chest. "It's all right. I won't ask you to."

"No, it's not that," Kassandra said. "I do trust you."

Kyra waited.

"If I tell you, this knowledge will put you in danger." She laughed without humor, and pressed her fingers to her temples. "But if I don't tell you, and you end up becoming Archon, _not_ knowing will be just as dangerous."

This was the second time Kassandra had mentioned Kyra becoming Archon, and Kyra would have laughed it off like she had the first time if not for the worry creasing Kassandra's brows and the tension in the set of her shoulders. "All the more reason to tell me," she said. "I'd rather face danger with my eyes fully open. Doesn't matter if I'm Archon or not."

More silence. Then Kassandra took a deep breath. "It's a conspiracy."

"What?"

"This unending war between Athens and Sparta. It's a conspiracy, driven by those who profit from playing both sides."

Kyra shook her head in disbelief. "There are too many moving parts in those alliances to control them so easily."

"I'm not talking about a handful of players."

"That would take influence at the highest levels of every nation in Greece."

"I've already killed the High Priestess of Hera in Argolis, and the Monger who ruled Korinth," Kassandra said. Her voice, capable of holding such depths, was flat and restrained. "And I saw at least forty others like them gathered together when I first uncovered this plot."

Kyra had seen Kassandra perform miraculous feats. Kyra had held that strange golden fragment of inexplicable origin. And when her eyes met Kassandra's, the truth was plainly written within them, as impossible as it sounded.

"Then these people control the whole of Greece."

Kassandra turned back to the pool, putting her face in profile, strong enough to be struck on any coin. "They call themselves the Cult of Kosmos."

"Mortals trying to put order to the universe. They certainly don't lack hubris. How did you get mixed up in this?"

"They destroyed my family. Put words in the Pythia of Delphi's mouth, told her to declare my baby brother anathema to Sparta."

"The one who died?"

"He didn't die," Kassandra said, and Kyra's eyebrows lifted in surprise despite herself. "He went over the edge of that cliff, like I did, and he survived, like I did. And when the Cult found out, they stole him from my mother and raised him to be their enforcer." She spoke to the pool with an unnerving calmness. "He's hunting us both, my mother and I. And the Cult made him a weapon more powerful than I am."

She looked up from the water, meeting Kyra's gaze, and Kyra saw that what she'd taken for restraint was instead an undercurrent of fear.

A chill ran through her, spreading down her spine and fanning out along her bones, and she had to resist the urge to look over her shoulder.

Kassandra had poured so many pieces into Kyra's hands all at once that pictures had begun to form: a cliff on a stormy night, a spear of unknowable power, a conspiracy vast and intricate, and a brother who was the dark mirror to Kassandra's light. But there was one piece missing that would tie them all together.

"Who _are_ you?" Kyra asked.

Kassandra squared her shoulders. "Kassandra, daughter of Myrrine, granddaughter of King Leonidas of Sparta."

Kyra nearly broke into incredulous laughter. It made perfect sense. "You're royalty," she said, pulling away from Kassandra without thinking. And not just any royalty — a lineage whose threads could be traced back to the divine, just as Kyra had suspected.

Kassandra reached for Kyra, but her hand stopped in mid-air. She balled it into a fist and dropped it into her lap. "I'm not, Kyra. Not anymore." She shook her head and smiled distantly. "I'm an exile without a home, searching for what's left of my family."

"While hunting down this Cult, and saving the world like your grandfather did."

"I don't care about saving the world," she said. "I want to see my mother safe, and then I want vengeance."

Kyra was silent. It was as though Gaea herself had awakened and begun to stir, pulling the ground into new angles along with her. Sunlight bounced off the water, all at once too bright and too hot on Kyra's skin, and she stood up abruptly and waded deeper into the pool, the rocks slick and rounded against the soles of her feet. She untied her chiton and pulled it over her head, tossing it onto the rocks and standing naked under an indifferent firmament. Then she inhaled hard enough to feel her ribs creak, and plunged into the depths.

It was cold — cold enough to steal her breath away and shock her back to her senses. She surfaced and drew in a gulp of air, treading water as Kassandra looked at her with surprised amusement.

"How is it?"

"Join me and find out."

Kassandra blinked, and then she began stripping off her armor, the pile at the water's edge growing piece by piece, until she too stood naked on the bank.

The view would have been one to admire if Kyra's hands weren't already starting to go numb. "Are you coming in or— Ahh, no. Don't you dare—"

Kassandra had leapt with the intention of causing the biggest splash, and she entered the water nearly on top of Kyra, inundating her with an icy wave that left her sputtering. She shook her head to clear the water from her eyes, and watched Kassandra sink into the rippling depths.

A moment later, Kassandra broke the surface, gasping for breath. "Gods, it's cold!"

Kyra grinned, then kicked her feet into a glide across the pool to its far side, where it was bounded by a wall of stone and cloaked in shadow. The water grew even colder as she cut through it; the spring's source lay somewhere in the darkness below.

She slapped a wet handprint onto the stone wall, then swam back to Kassandra.

They looked at each other, a distance between them, neither knowing what to say.

Wordlessly, Kyra paddled to the edge and hoisted herself over it, laying back against the stone and closing her eyes to the glare, letting the sun lave her skin.

Kassandra swam over and joined her on the rocks, close enough to spray her with a fine mist of water droplets as she settled in beside her.

She lay there a long time. She felt Kassandra's presence, quiet and solemn, the lineage of kings singing in her blood while Kyra's own lineage... As much as she didn't want to believe that Podarkes was her father, what else could it be but the truth? She shuddered, knowing her blood was fouled with cruelty and greed.

Kassandra saw her tremble. "Are you still cold?"

She didn't answer, and her silence drew Kassandra closer, until Kassandra's skin tentatively touched her thigh. She didn't move, didn't speak, didn't open her eyes, and more of Kassandra slid against her, their flanks pressing together, a leg slipping over to entwine with hers, and she had to bite her lip as Kassandra's heat warmed her through to her muscles, despite knowing she'd received it under false pretenses.

"It's too much to take in, I know," Kassandra said quietly.

It was wrong to let Kassandra think she was the cause of Kyra's disquiet, but what else could Kyra do? Talk about her father? Enumerate all the ways in which she was unworthy of Kassandra's attention? That would be a fun conversation. No, like Phaethon, she'd hold the reins of Helios's chariot until her thrilling ride reached its inevitable conclusion.

She opened her eyes to the strange sight of an awkward and uncertain Kassandra hovering above her, and made herself smile. Feelings worn long enough would become real. "I was the one who wanted to compare notes, remember?"

"You forgot your bow."

"I'm afraid our archery contest will have to wait."

Kassandra chuckled. "I suspect I've dodged the sting of defeat."

"Well, since you've conceded, I think I'll claim my prize now rather than later."

"I never agreed to any terms."

"Even a theoretical archery contest would have a winner. Winning deserves a prize." And the prize she wanted was a distraction from thoughts she'd rather not be having.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Have me like you would a stranger." Someone found in an agora, or a kapeleion, or during some adventure, captivated by the Eagle Bearer's beauty and easy charm into spending some time with her in bed.

"You're no stranger," Kassandra said, touching Kyra's cheek with her fingertip.

A flush crept up her neck. "Then pretend I am."

"I can't. I know your wants now, and how they differ from mine."

"I don't see how that matters when I'm offering myself to _you_."

"It pleases you to make others yield. To break them, didn't you say?"

Kyra frowned. It sounded so much worse in the daylight. "I don't always have to have it that way," she said guardedly.

"Maybe so, but what I enjoy most is seeing you lose yourself in pleasure."

Then Kyra understood what Kassandra was trying to tell her. "Is that so?" She moved Kassandra's hand between her thighs. "Feel this, then."

Kyra let out a shaky breath as Kassandra's fingers slipped between her folds, her mind emptying of any thought that didn't involve Kassandra taking whatever she wanted from her. "See? That's what you do to me. You."

A trickle of water ran from Kassandra's braid down her breast, and for a while, the slow spatter of droplets onto Kyra's skin was the only movement between them. Then Kassandra stood up, pulling Kyra up with her, and she scooped Kyra into her arms and carried her across the stone to the grassy verge.

Kassandra lowered her into the flower-strewn grass and lay beside her, stroking her skin. "Gods, you're a gift," Kassandra whispered, the reverence in her voice matching the gentleness of her hands.

Kyra lay open before the sky, the stones, the trees, and the water, all of them bearing silent witness while Kassandra explored every plane and curve of Kyra's body, first with her hands and then with her lips, her touch so tender it made Kyra ache.

There was more. Kassandra's explorations moved from touch to taste, and Kyra moaned as Kassandra's tongue circled her nipple, moaned again as Kassandra sucked it into her warm, wet mouth. There was no control here for Kyra to take, no planning, no thinking — just Kassandra's mouth and lips and tongue testing her like a musician playing the first notes on a new lyre.

Lower. Below the curves of her breasts. Lower. Across her belly strung taut. She felt herself writhing, her thighs parting, and through the roar of her blood in her ears, she thought she heard Kassandra's voice say "You're so beautiful."

She groaned when Kassandra's lips brushed past the curls between her thighs, and gasped when Kassandra's mouth closed around her, and as the tip of Kassandra's tongue delicately traced the outline of her swollen clit, she knew she made other sounds, but by the time they reached her own ears they'd lost all shape and form.

But Kassandra heard them, and gods, how she wielded time itself as she played Kyra with her tongue, improvising under the dappled shadows of the oak trees until Kyra's every breath was heavy with the scent of sweat and earth and grass, and her moans turned to whimpers before hollowing out into soundless gasps, and when Kassandra finally released her, the coil of her need unspooling into pleasure, she let out a fierce cry that echoed off the water and stone, and closed her eyes against a rush of tears.

She shaped Kassandra's name in her mouth, and speaking it was as natural as breathing, and she did, over and over in a litany as her body quivered on and on, that only ended when Kassandra kissed away her tears. "Kyra?" she asked, and the worry in her voice forced Kyra's eyes back open.

"I'm all right," she said, the words sticking in her throat. She scrubbed at the wet trails down her cheeks with the heels of her palms. Kassandra had given her pleasures beyond imagination, and yet here she was, crying and saying stupid things. "I'm sorry," she said. "I don't know what's—"

Kassandra placed a finger against Kyra's lips and shook her head, and then she lay down in the grass and pulled Kyra next to her, and Kyra couldn't stop herself from crawling half on top of her, just so she could rest her cheek on that muscled chest and hear the beat of the heart within it.

They lay there, listening to the water and the bees buzzing in the flowers and the leaves of the oaks above them, stealing time and setting duty aside.

And much later, she looked over and saw Kassandra's tunic laying in the crushed grass her body once occupied, and she tugged at the white fabric with her fingers. "Your tunic's going to have grass stains all over it."

"It's seen... worse," Kassandra said with a dark chuckle. "And I'll wear those grass stains proudly."

Kyra fell silent, her body still echoing with Kassandra's hands and tongue, remembering the reverence in each. "There was no pretending in any of that."

"No. I couldn't," Kassandra said, and her heart began to pound beneath Kyra's ear. "You're not like anyone else."

And gods help her, Kyra would cling to those words, for the alternative was to sit with the knowledge that her hopes for the future would soon sail away on a ship emblazoned with an eagle.

At least this way, she could tell herself that ship might come back one day.

.oOo.

There was no stopping time, and they didn't try, instead choosing to enjoy how well they fit together. And when Kyra left the spring hours later, she did so with Kassandra imprinted into her skin, and muscles, and bone.

The hideout was bustling when she arrived just before sunset, astir beyond the usual changeover of the evening's watch, and boisterous greetings followed her into the central chamber, noisy as it was with conversations and laughter. She found Praxos, and listened as he filled her in on the day's events while she grazed on bits of bread and cheese from the trays laid out for dinner.

"We managed to get most everyone to the Adrestia," he was saying, "and Captain Barnabas says they'll be ready to sail in the morning once the last ones arrive."

That explained the upbeat mood surrounding her. As risky as it was, the truce had let them catch their breaths after the marathon they'd been forced to run all these months. And the fighters would swing their swords with renewed focus now that they knew their families were going to be safe.

"Good work," she said around bites of bread. "Anything else?"

"The Athenians are loading ships in the port."

"With what?"

"Themselves."

His words didn't sink in immediately, but once they did, she laughed with satisfaction. "Now _that_ is very good news."

Praxos glanced at her sideways. "You've been in fine spirits today."

"Am I that obvious?"

"Comes with putting up with your schemes for so long."

"My schemes have us on the verge of breaking the Athenian occupation." Saying it was pleasant enough, but thinking of all those blue banners being torn from their mounts made her smile, even under the shadow of confrontations she knew were yet to come.

"Aye, that's true." He watched her eat several bites, then looked down, frowned, and returned his gaze to hers. "You should know — Thaletas is waiting for you in your chambers."

She stopped chewing. "You could've said that first."

"It's been a long time since I've seen you this... happy. Figured I'd let you enjoy it as long as possible."

"And why would seeing Thaletas change that?" she asked, keeping her voice neutral.

"Don't try me, girl. I've known you since you were as tall as my knee. There's more going on here than you've let on." He peered at her, his face somber, and he lowered his voice to just above a whisper. "He's in a foul mood," he said, reaching for her shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. "If you need me, shout."

So Praxos had sensed a change in her, the shift in her allegiances. He'd not offer his thoughts any more than he already had, unless she asked him directly.

He'd done her a kindness in warning her.

It meant she had time to prepare herself. To think what she might say. To accumulate props — a chunk of bread and a cup of watered-down wine — and make sure she was holding the bread mid-bite the moment she walked through the doorway to her room. All the easier to look surprised to see Thaletas.

He was sitting at the table in the center of the room, a single lamp illuminating the interior. She stepped through the doorway and froze in place as if startled.

He looked up and fixed her with a hard stare. "Where have you been?"

No greeting, no preamble. Praxos was right: he _was_ in a bad mood.

She chewed and swallowed. "Eating."

"Today. Yesterday," he said, his face unchanging. Did Spartans ever roll their eyes, or did the agoge beat that out of them too? At least Kassandra seemed to have missed that lesson, and if she'd been here to hear it, she would have rolled her eyes at Kyra's flippant response.

Kyra placed the bread and cup on the table. "Yesterday, I went hunting. Today, I scouted what's left of the fort down to the beach." Just enough truth to bend it like a willow branch until it nearly broke. "Why?"

"I don't think you've been lying to me since you went to Delos, but you've hidden things."

He knew.

"What do you wish to know?" Time for her to answer, for what little it was worth after what she'd already done. She'd answer his every question, except the _why_ of it, for she didn't know the answer to that herself. Eros hadn't shot her with an arrow — he'd tied her to Kassandra with a line that had only grown tighter the more she'd struggled against it.

"Were you with Kassandra for part of the day today? Or all of it?" he asked, and then he laughed bitterly. "I've never been a fool — until I met you." He gestured to her, shaking his head with resignation. "Even now, seeing you... my anger fades."

Gods, she was going to hurt him. The theoretical knowledge she had kept putting off was about to turn practical. She slowly sat down on the bench across from him, as her belly hollowed out and her hands began to shake, and suddenly she knew, with complete certainty, that she was going to hurt them both. First Thaletas, and then later... She looked down at her hands and _knew_.

After all, hurting people was in her blood.

"There's something I have to tell you," she said to him.

And then she did.


	18. Payable Upon Proof of Death

The weather was about to change, and the dawn skies above Kassandra's head glowed like coals in a forge, red folding into orange, bright but without heat. She stood at the Adrestia's railing, shivering in her armor, and swept her gaze further down the beach, where the soldiers in the Spartan camp were already moving with smooth and silent efficiency. _Keep your mouth shut and let your spear talk for you._ A favorite polemarch saying. She wondered if Thaletas had ever passed it along to his men.

Below her, the huddled shapes that dotted the sands around the dock began to stir, the blanket-covered lumps yawning and stretching back into people, some forty in all, each of them family of one of the rebel fighters left on Mykonos. It would be the Adrestia's job to deliver them to safety.

She didn't envy Barnabas and Gelon, who'd have to make sure everyone made it onto the ship, and quickly. A hard task getting harder in the commotion spreading across the sand, as belongings were packed, little ones escaped from their parents to tumble with gleeful shrieks into the surf, and voices grew tense and louder.

Chaos was what it was, and she imagined what Kyra would do to put it in order. She'd stroll into the crowd, let every eye settle upon her while sizing up the situation. Then she'd pick a few people from the group, give them her instructions, and turn them loose while adding her own hands to the effort until the work was done.

Kassandra smiled as she indulged in the daydream. She closed her eyes, hoping to add Kyra's voice to the illusion — but it only made the sound of approaching footsteps easier to hear, steps that rolled with the perpetual motion of waves.

She glanced upwards as Barnabas joined her at the railing. "I don't like the look of that sky," she said.

"Aye. We'll sail for Siros instead. Plenty of shelter in its coves, and we'll be able to drop anchor early. I won't go running towards Poseidon's anger with so many families aboard."

"Agreed." She watched the people below gather the baskets and bundles that held all they had left of their lives. "Did they decide where they wanted to go?" There'd been disagreement among the families, and Barnabas had been forced to play magistrate to settle the dispute.

"Keos. We'll fly the Pirate Queen's colors, and she's certain to grant refuge to these fine people. She favors you, in her way."

"She'll favor me more when I bring her that chest full of drachmae."

Barnabas laughed. "Aye, she will, but she's no friend of tyrants either. And I'll—" He didn't finish, distracted by movement on the gangplank, where a crewman was limping down to the dock. Kassandra looked closer. Not a he, but a _she_. That smuggler Iola, who seemed to be moving well after her escape from death's claws and teeth.

"If Xenia asks for more drachmae," Kassandra said, "tell her to add it to my tab."

An annoyed shout blasted the deck and pushed his answer aside. "What are we fucking waiting for? Someone to roll out a welcome carpet woven from the hair on Zeus's ass?"

Kassandra chuckled despite herself. Gelon's curses were growing ever more vibrant. She'd have to remember that one for later.

Then there was a flurry of motion among the crew as Gelon played the part of a herding dog nipping at their heels. The chaos had spread onto the docks, and a crowd of people jostled around the gangplank, while the youngest children played in the sand below and chased each other around the wooden pilings. The older ones wore the same furrowed brows as their parents, and were standing off to the side, some carrying small bundles of their own, others holding babies.

Uprooted. Adrift. Hoping that this would be temporary, that it would last only long enough for Kyra and her rebels to depose Podarkes and cleanse the island of his supporters.

Barnabas leaned back against the railing, his dead eye gleaming orange. "I see you took my advice," he said.

"And which mote of wisdom was that?"

He pressed his hand to his chest. "Mote! You wound me, Kassandra. Have you forgotten that motes can accumulate like sand on a beach?" He grinned and raised his eyebrows. "Some lucky lady owes Eros an offering, eh?"

"Ares's balls, am I that obvious?"

"There's no shame in that. You're a great many things, Eagle Bearer... but maybe not so subtle."

Kassandra sighed.

"Do you know who _is_ subtle?" he asked. "Kyra."

The rising heat in her face would give him all the answer he needed, damn him.

"Ha, I knew it! You two have been circling like sharks since we got here." He punched her lightly in the arm. "You've an eye for the finer things, I see. Why, if I were younger I might have tried to woo her with a few poems myself."

Kassandra rolled her eyes.

His face grew serious. "I like her. I like her a great deal."

"So do I." She pressed her forearms into the rail and flexed her fingers, watching bones and muscles work together. Skin hid so much. "It scares me. A little."

He blinked, then peered at her closely. "How so?"

"I worry about her." Saying it out loud didn't make her feel any better. "No matter where she goes on this island, she's surrounded by threats." Her fingers curled into fists. She squeezed until her shoulders were tight as hawsers, released, then did it again. "And I know she can take care of herself, but..."

"Aphrodite's gifts sometimes don't feel like gifts at all."

Is that what this was? "I hope I've given Aphrodite cause to treat me gently."

"She can be kind as well as cruel. Your worries mean your feelings are real."

"I didn't know you were wise in the ways of love as well as sailing."

"It's the same thing, isn't it? Navigating fickle currents, weathering storm after storm... And yet, when the sun comes out and turns the waves to gold, and you feel the wind in your face and know that you're home — it all becomes worth it." Then he smiled, like a break in an autumn sky, sunny one moment only to cloud over the next. "I was married, once."

"Once?"

"A long time ago." He sighed and looked into the distance, and she sensed him treading water above depths darkened by sadness. "I'll tell you the tale some other time," he said.

She looked down at her hands, and at the water slapping against the side of the ship's hull. "I'm not sure I like this... worrying. Even if it is some god's idea of a gift."

"You'll just have to make room in your heart for it."

"It doesn't go away?"

The question surprised him. "Would you want it to?"

Ever since the night she'd spent with Kyra in the hunter's hut, her worry had become entwined with something more, and now a memory emerged from the buried depths, of a time when she was five years old and had slipped away from her chores to explore the city of Sparta and its wondrous delights, and she'd taken off as fast as she could run, thrumming with illicit excitement, dodging merchants and helots in the agora, climbing the vine-clad walls of the Temple of Artemis onto its roof in time to see the setting sun paint Mount Taygetos gold. She'd stood there, drinking in the crisp air and the divine view, her blood shimmering with the thrill of it, until her mother's voice broke through her elation. Then she'd gone to the edge of the roof and peered over the side. The ground was so far away. How in Hades would she get back _down_?

She shook the memory away and lifted her gaze back to the beach, where Iola was helping carry blankets to the dock. "Glad to see her up and about."

Barnabas's eyes followed hers. "Iola? Aye, she's a strong one, both in will and good fortune."

"Good fortune? She almost got mauled to death by a bear."

He turned and faced her, his eyes soft. "It brought her to you, didn't it?" he said, along with a cryptic smile. "And you..." He fell silent, but her mind filled in the missing words anyway: _You brought her to me._

If he wanted to say more, he would have. She wouldn't pry. Instead, she stood beside him and watched the happenings on the beach in silence, until the fires in the skies cooled to merely dramatic shades of pink, and the rebel families had long begun ferrying their goods up the gangplank.

She gestured at the remnants of the camp. "Will you be ready to depart once they're all on board?"

"We're still waiting on one family that didn't arrive last night... and one of the crew."

"Who?"

"Onomastos. He was due back yesterday with the rest, but no one's seen him." Barnabas frowned. "He's a good lad. It's not like him to be late."

"Wait for them, then. I'll leave it up to you to decide when to depart."

"Aye, Commander. We'll be back in time to see you put Podarkes's head on a spike."

She appreciated his optimism, but _she_ wouldn't be the one holding Podarkes's head up on display — that was Kyra's destiny to fulfill.

And being on the Adrestia wasn't helping Kyra at all.

Down on the sand, past the following eyes and the trailing voices, the expanse of beach between the docks and the Spartan camp was strangely serene. Walls of rock guarded the cove in a protective circle, and the only entry point was on the far side of the camp, where she found Thaletas's lieutenant in conversation with the two soldiers on guard duty.

He turned at her approach. "Eagle Bearer."

She nodded a greeting at him and the others.

"Haven't seen the polemarch, have you?" he asked.

That made her stop. "No."

"He went to the rebel hideout at sunset last night and hasn't been seen since."

That's when she'd left Kyra at the spring. Her stomach tightened. "Perhaps he stayed the night at the hideout," she said in a neutral tone.

"He usually sends word."

She would have answered if the soldiers hadn't readied their spears and shields and focused their attention on the narrow funnel of beach and a lone man running towards them.

"Kassandra!"

She recognized him. The lad Barnabas had spoken of earlier, Onomastos. "Let him through, he's one of mine."

"Stand down," the lieutenant said to the soldiers.

Onomastos ran through the gate, skidding to a halt before her. "Kassandra— I mean, Commander. There's—" He choked on his words, doubling over and panting hard.

"Breathe," she said.

He did, in great huffs, and then he pulled himself upright and tried again. "There's trouble in the city, and smoke in the forest north of it."

"What do you mean by 'trouble'?"

"The streets are deserted, and Podarkes's men have taken over the port. They're checking everyone coming in or out by ship. I only got through because I'm a citizen of Delos." He waved his hands helplessly. "I couldn't get a ride from Delos yesterday. Every felucca was booked."

"You did well getting here," she said, squeezing his shoulder. "Go tell Barnabas he can wait a quarter hour for any stragglers, but after that, he's to set sail no matter what."

"Aye, Commander," he said.

Kassandra had known the truce wouldn't hold, that it was merely an opportunity for the two sides to make plans and prepare them to play out. Kyra had spent her days on the defensive, gathering rebel families across the island and bringing them to safety here. What had Podarkes been doing?

She looked at the lieutenant. "Ready your men. I assume your orders are to hold this beach?"

"Yes." He lifted his shield.

"The Adrestia _must_ leave here safely. You understand?"

He nodded.

"Good. I'm going to the hideout to look for Thaletas," she lied, "and I'm borrowing a horse." Thaletas was the least of her concerns. She'd not waste time readying Phobos for travel when there were horses waiting here already saddled.

Then she was swinging her leg over a chestnut gelding, and once she passed the gate, she urged him to a full gallop, pointing him straight into the teeth of whatever plans Podarkes had set into motion.

.oOo.

The gelding's flanks were coated with lather when she nudged him away from the road and into the forest, and when she reined him in at the hollow where the rebels picketed their horses, the youth who'd been tasked with watching over them materialized next to her knee. "Eagle Bearer! They're waiting for you at the hideout," he said as she dismounted.

She patted the gelding's neck and murmured to him in thanks, then handed the reins over. "Know what's going on?"

"No, just that there's trouble in the city."

Trouble again. She brooded over the word all the way to the cave. Whatever it was, it had roused the rebels to full alert. The air crackled with nervous anticipation, voices speaking a little too quickly, blades lingering a little too long against whetstones.

Kyra found her at the chamber's entrance, and she beckoned Kassandra back to the scroll-strewn table where she plotted strategy. She tapped her finger on the map. "You've heard about the city?" she asked without preamble, her voice a hard rasp that matched the chips of flint in her eyes.

"I know there's something going on, that's all."

"My scout says Podarkes closed the port this morning. All but a handful of ships have been turned away."

"With what army?" The number of Athenian soldiers left on the island should have been countable on one hand.

"His personal guard. But there are also armed fighters roaming the streets, moreso than usual."

"Misthioi?"

"Seems likely."

Kassandra crossed her arms in thought. "Paid for with whose drachmae?"

"Good question. I'm still waiting for my second and third scouts to report back." Kyra slid her finger north on the map, to a spot on the beach that matched the location of the Spartan camp. "Has the Adrestia sailed yet?"

"Barnabas should have her underway by now."

"And what of the camp?"

"Quiet when I left it, and the roads in between were clear." Kassandra glanced around. "Is Thaletas here?"

Kyra's brows lifted. "Why? He's not at the camp?"

"No. His men said he never returned last night."

She sighed, her shoulders slumping, and lowered her voice so only Kassandra could hear. "I told him. About us."

Another complication. "It would have been better if you hadn't."

"You think I don't know that?" Kyra said, her voice sharpening to a point. "He figured it out."

"Where could he have gone?"

"I have no idea." She pressed her thumb against her temple and rubbed her brow with her fingers. "He was furious when he left here, that's for damn sure. But he's smart enough to stay away from you."

"I'm not worried about him."

Kyra gave her an appraising look. "No, you wouldn't be."

"Think he might go after Podarkes?"

"Maybe. He's got a good excuse to now." She traced another circle on the map, just north of the city. "There's more. We've reports of smoke coming from here, but the orphan camp's the only thing worth checking in that forest and I can't spare any more scouts to investigate."

Kassandra's heart squeezed tight as she remembered something Barnabas had told her not long after they'd arrived on Mykonos: that Podarkes had once murdered a farmer's children and fed the bodies to pigs. Even children would not escape the long arm of his cruelty. "What would you have me do?"

Kyra blew out a frustrated breath. "I don't _know_," she said. "I've been saying that a lot this morning. I don't know enough to act."

The urge to pull Kyra close was almost overwhelming, but Kassandra fought it down. She'd not undermine Kyra's leadership in full view of everyone. Instead, she settled for placing her hand on top of Kyra's, wincing at the chill in the skin beneath her palm. "Waiting is an action," she said, and Kyra tensed, as if she were a started deer, caught between staying and fleeing.

Noise at the chamber's entrance sprung those muscles into motion, and Kyra stepped away from the table to meet a man running towards them. He wore a pair of daggers on his belt and carried a scroll clenched in his fist. One of her scouts.

"Kyra," he said breathlessly. "Podarkes has his thugs posting these all over the city." He handed her the scroll.

Kyra read it, her eyes flickering over the words like flames, and then she passed it to Kassandra without saying a word.

_Kyra,_

_The orphans of Mykonos belong to me now, and one will die every day until you turn yourself in._

_Podarkes_

The scout shifted his gaze from Kyra to Kassandra, then back again. "Nothing good in there, I take it?"

"No," Kyra said, her expression opaque except for the muscles tightening in her jaw.

_Tell Kyra that her execution will be long and painful._ Kassandra crushed the papyrus in her fist and threw it onto the table.

Kyra turned to the scout. "What of the misthioi in the city?"

"Still there, mostly around the port and the agora," he said.

"How many?"

"Fifteen or so."

"That we know of." She thought for a moment. "If any of them leave the city, I want to know where they go."

"I'll need more eyes."

Kyra gazed across the chamber, watching her fighters, weighing numbers and risk. "Find someone to take with you."

He bowed his head, then left to carry out Kyra's orders.

She watched him for several moments, then gestured for Kassandra as she headed for the passageway at the back of the chamber. "Come with me," she said. "Now it's time to act."

.oOo.

Kassandra stood beside the table in the center of Kyra's bedchamber, wondering if the room had always been this cold.

"I'm going with you," Kyra was saying. To the orphan camp, where the worst case scenario was too horrific to dwell on for long.

"No, you're not," Kassandra said. "You're needed here, and everything about this smells like a trap."

"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you." Kyra's lines — the cords of her neck, her crossed arms, the bend of her knee and thigh — were stretched taut, like a crane over a quarry straining under a load. She was an arm's length away, but she could have been on the other side of the island.

This was not the hideout's central chamber, busy with rebel fighters who kept their eyes and ears attuned to Kyra at all times. Kassandra took Kyra by the hand and gently led her to the bed, pulling her down next to her.

"This moment is what you've been waiting for all these years," Kassandra said. "He's within your grasp now."

"Is he? How do you know he's not already two steps ahead?"

"Because you've pushed him to the edge. He's acting out of desperation." Kassandra chased Kyra's gaze until she caught it. "Why are you doubting yourself now?"

"I've made some bad decisions."

"Like what?"

"Thaletas."

"Ahh," she said. "I'm sorry, about..."

"Don't be."

Kassandra's stomach hollowed out anyway. Kyra had said 'decisions' in the plural. Who knew the number of her regrets.

Kyra was shaking her head. "I didn't go far enough. I should have made sure the orphans were safe, like the families—"

"You can't protect everyone. And even if you _had_ hidden the orphans, he would have gone after civilians in the city streets instead. No one's safe until you kill him."

There was a long pause. "I let myself get distracted from that."

Her words hung like the motes of frost that dusted the hills below Mount Taygetos after a winter storm, carried by air cold and sharp enough to cut the breath from one's chest.

Kassandra stood up, unable to sit with the idea that Kyra considered this — whatever this was, whatever _they_ were — to be a mistake. "I'm going to the camp. Alone," she said, as she held up a hand to forestall Kyra's response. "It won't take long, and depending on what I find there and what your scouts report back, you'll know what to do next."

Then she turned and left the chamber, left the hideout and its nervous energy, left Kyra behind, every step putting real distance between them to match what she'd felt only moments before.

.oOo.

No birds sang in the forest around the orphan camp. No mice or hares scurried through the pine cones and leaves, no goats or deer stepped through the brush. Even the wind was subdued, and smoke hovered in a dirty grey pall between the trees.

Kassandra found Otonia's body at the edge of the camp. She lay facedown in the center of a damp and darkened patch of dirt, and the stench of death and clotted blood overpowered that of the smoke. Kassandra knelt beside her, and though she had seen countless bodies in her lifetime, she shuddered at the cold, rigid flesh in her hands as she turned Otonia over. Wounds gaped at the woman's belly and throat, her hands and forearms sliced open like a woodcutter's chopping block. Whatever awaited her in the Underworld, she'd not gone easy to meet it.

Kassandra dug a coin out of her pouch and placed it on Otonia's lips, then gently closed those wild eyes for a final time.

Smoke. Silence. Stillness. The camp's makeshift hovels were empty, and there were no other bodies, or signs of blood or struggle. Then she arrived at the open area in the center of the camp, where a massive firepit still smoldered. Nearby, a large, dark spot stained the dirt. Something had bled here, and judging by the size of the gouges leading away, that something was an adult and not a child.

She followed the scored dirt past a cluster of blackened and collapsing hovels, where the air was thick with acrid smoke and a handful of burned out torches lay discarded along the path. The rest of the camp remained untouched. The attackers had arrived before dawn, and they'd taken the children without wanton destruction. Professional work.

Misthioi work.

How many there were remained a mystery. She was no tracker; the dirt had been disturbed by too many feet for her to guess their numbers. Were the misthioi in the city the ones who'd rounded up the children? Unlikely. They would have had to have been as swift as Hermes himself to travel here, take the children, and return to the city by dawn. No, there were dozens of misthioi prowling this island, and Podarkes had used someone else's money to pay for them.

There was nothing left for her to see here. Otonia was dead, but the orphans had been taken alive — more leverage for Podarkes that way. It was up to Kyra's scouts to find them, and then Kassandra would go and kill her way through a camp full of misthioi to bring them back to safety.

But first she had to leave this place, while knowing the trap within it had yet to be sprung. The lines of its snare tightened around her with every step she took away from the camp.

She avoided the well-worn trails the orphans had cut between the trees. The breeze was picking up, obscuring the sounds of her movement, but then again, she'd also find it harder to hear as well. She drew her spear, finding comfort in it as her fingers curled around their usual places along its leather-wrapped handle.

Her breathing sped up, and her heart also, its pounding grasp pulling up a sense of ready anticipation from some deep and hidden wellspring. She stopped. Listened. Felt it, like a vibration, like a murmur of _Danger!_ — and she spun and knocked an arrow out of the air with her spear.

Then she ran, and a second arrow streaked by as she plunged through a curtain of cedar boughs. She crashed through the undergrowth, but now there were other sounds converging upon her, snapping sticks, crunching leaves, and when the first misthios burst into her path, she ducked and let his axe swing over her head into a tangle of branches while her body pivoted up and her spear found a sliver of space between his cuirass and helm.

She felt nothing as he died, not a whisper of pleasure from her blade puncturing his throat. She could guess why, but there was only room in her thoughts for what was in front of her right now: another misthios charging out from the trees, followed by a second and then a third.

Three misthioi. At least she wasn't on open ground. But that damned archer was still somewhere behind her, and the trees wouldn't shield her forever. She'd deal with the three in front of her, and take her chances with the rest.

One carried a sword, the other a spear, and the last was a woman armed with the javelins and sling of a peltast. An odd assortment of weaponry among them, but what was an army of misthioi if not an odd assortment of unique weapons?

Spear and Javelins were at a disadvantage among the trees, their weapons hindered by the foliage around them. She stepped back and put a pair of slender tree trunks in their path, buying herself time to focus on Sword, who was curving around towards her left side, the weak side for most fighters.

He'd find out his mistake soon enough. She quickened her steps, closed the distance, raised her spear to meet his blade — and watched feathers sprout from his shoulder. He cried out in pain and dropped his sword, his free hand reaching for the arrow that impaled him, his fingers closing around two black feathers and one striped with light grey. Kassandra knew those arrows; she'd seen Kyra fell Athenian after Athenian with them.

Movement to the side. Javelins emerged from the green, her arm drawn back, ready to throw at a target behind Kassandra's line of sight.

Kassandra didn't think, but took two hard, driving steps and launched herself at the woman. Too late she saw the flash of a bronze spearpoint off to her side, and pain flared through her left thigh as she slammed her shoulder into her target. The javelin fluttered weakly into the bushes, and Kassandra drove her blade into the side of the woman's neck. They crashed to the ground in a bloody tangle.

When Kassandra rolled to her feet, the misthios who'd stabbed her was already on the ground, gurgling his final breaths around the arrow jutting from his throat. His spear lay in front of him, its blade stained red. She felt around the back of her thigh, and bit off a curse when her fingers came back wet and bloody.

Leaves rustled to her left, where she'd first encountered the swordsman. She swiveled in time to see him stumble backwards and sit against a rotting stump, and then Kyra stepped out from behind a big pine, her bow drawn and pointed at him.

Kyra's head turned, and her eyes flicked over Kassandra, up and down, with a long pause at her leg, where blood was trickling from the wound in a warm and steady flow. No pain, just a cold ache deep inside. Kassandra dug into her beltpouch for a bandage.

Kyra returned her attention to the man. "How many of you did Podarkes hire?" she asked.

He spat at her feet.

She shot an arrow into his thigh, calmly pulling another from her quiver and nocking it while he cried out in pain. "Am I going to have to shoot you again?"

He held out a hand to ward her off. "No! No. Thirty of us, maybe. I'm not sure. We all came to Delos separately."

"To do what?"

"Some to get the children, some to guard him, some to find _you_. He said: kill the rebel bitch. Kill the Eagle Bearer. Fifteen thousand for each, payable with proof."

Proof. Kyra's head in a bag. Hers too. Fifteen thousand drachmae was an attractive bounty to anyone, but thirty was enough to retire on in comfort. Small wonder he'd found so many misthioi on short notice. She narrowed her eyes, blood pounding in her ears as she bent down and began wrapping the bandage around her leg.

"Podarkes doesn't have that kind of drachmae," Kyra said.

"He paid me just to come here. Got it in deposit at the temple back home. And he paid the others, too. They said the Eagle Bearer fights like a lion, but you..." He bared his teeth with dark humor, his head rolling back against the stump. "You were a surprise."

"Where are the children?"

He closed his eyes and began to groan. "It hurts. Bad."

Kyra kicked the foot on his wounded leg, and his groan turned into a scream. She waited until he was finished. "Where are they?"

"The fort, the fort," he gasped. Miltiades, the fort Kyra had burned down when they'd stolen Podarkes's treasury — or what they'd thought was his treasury. How was he funding this gambit? The mystery grated against Kassandra's thoughts.

"Get off this island and you might live to withdraw your coin," Kyra said. "If I see your face again, your life is forfeit." He'd be lucky to drag himself out of this forest, but Kyra had given him a chance, small as it was.

Kyra watched Kassandra finish tying off the bandage. "Can you walk?"

Kassandra nodded, and she followed Kyra through the trees, each step aching annoyingly from knee to hip. They walked until the birds began to sing and chirp again, but as the smoke faded, it revealed no sunshine overhead, only mottled grey skies and a chill, blustery breeze.

"How bad is it?" Kyra asked after a while.

"Don't know yet. I think the bleeding's slowing." Kassandra didn't want to move the bandage to find out. "There was an archer somewhere behind me."

Kyra stopped walking. "Archers. I killed them."

"Thanks, even though I told you not to follow."

"If you think I'm going to let someone shoot you in the back—"

"And who was watching your back?" Kassandra asked. "I let myself get distracted by you."

Kyra flinched. "I suppose I deserved that," she said, but before the moment could fester, she spoke again. "Can you make it to the hideout? You can yell at me all you want there."

Kassandra didn't want to yell at Kyra, she wanted Kyra to be safe. But now wasn't the time to say it. She tightened her jaw around the words and set them aside. "I'll make it," she said. "I hardly even feel it at all."

.oOo.

She managed to reach the hill below the hideout before she started limping. Distance had turned the ache into a ragged sawblade of pain that cut into her thigh with every step. She stopped at the cave's entrance, looked at Kyra, then down at the blood-soaked bandage. "Can you retie it?" she asked. "Tighter."

Kyra knelt, and Kassandra felt her fingers begin to work the knot. "It won't be good for the wound," she said as she pulled the ends free.

"It's only for a moment." Long enough for Kassandra to cross the central chamber full of rebels without showing any weakness.

She remembered, then, the agoge: kneeling in the mud with the boys in her cohort, each of them holding a spearshaft over their heads to see who could endure the longest. The boys who gave out too soon were whipped, but the winner would get extra rations, and after months of near-starvation, that proved plenty of motivation. First her knees had ached, and then her muscles had burned with a dull smolder, then with a fierce flicker, then with a pain that swallowed the world. And the only weapons she had to fight it were her will and her breath. Breathe in. Breathe out. Will herself to do it again, and again, and again, never stopping because stopping meant failing like the boys around her, as they collapsed one by one into groaning heaps.

And their teacher had walked among them, saying, _Pain is weakness leaving the body_, and _Pain is only a message_, and _Pain can be ignored_, and she'd spent that agonizing day learning that everything he said was true.

She'd feasted well that night, hidden in a hollow on the hillsides high above Pitana, away from the roving packs of boys who'd try to steal her winnings from her by force.

The bandage tightened around her leg, and she hissed as the pain gnawed at her muscles. She gathered it in and exhaled it out.

Kyra winced. "I'm sorry," she said, as she knotted the ends. And then she stood, her hands covered with Kassandra's blood.

Kassandra reached for her and cupped her cheek, and they looked at each other without speaking. Kyra closed her eyes, and relaxed into the touch with a sigh. Then she opened them, reluctantly, and said, "We should get going."

Their arrival in the hideout caused heads to turn, and as Kassandra walked with Kyra across the central chamber, eyes shifted from Kyra's bloody hands to the rusty rivulets of blood coating her leg. There was no hiding her wound, but her stride was steady and her face untroubled. Let them see her brush it off as if it were nothing. Pain was just a message to be ignored.

A short while later, she lay on her side on a woolen blanket in the bathing chamber deep within the cave, watching Kyra gather lamps and a jug of water.

Then Kyra knelt beside her, frowning as she unwrapped the bloody linen from Kassandra's leg. "That's going to need stitching," she said. "It's still bleeding." She lifted the jug and sluiced water onto the wound. "Looks clean though, thank the gods."

Kassandra twisted her shoulders back to take a look. The spearpoint had entered the outside of her thigh below the hip, opening up a wound as wide as her palm and slicing deep into the muscle. She'd been lucky that it hadn't plunged in far enough to hit something important. "Time to find someone handy with a needle."

"I can do it. If you want."

"Of course I want."

Kyra's smile was faint, but her eyes softened. "Are we talking about the same thing?"

"Maybe," Kassandra said innocently. Seeing Kyra relax was a welcome distraction.

Kyra stroked her fingertips over Kassandra's skin, then climbed to her feet. "I'll be right back."

When she returned, her hands were full with a tray that held a steaming bowl of water, cup, a needle, lengths of gut thread, and a pile of linen strips.

She handed Kassandra the cup. "Drink this."

Kassandra did, and had to fight back a cough as the wine burned its way down. "It's undiluted."

"There's water in it. A few drops at least." She grinned. "Trust me, you'll feel better. And I'll feel better too if you aren't wriggling around." She peered at the needle and threaded it with ease.

"I won't be moving, wine or not," Kassandra said. But she finished the cup anyway.

"If you tell me no one feels pain in Sparta, I'm going to kick you into that stream," Kyra said, pointing the needle towards the water flowing across the far end of the room. "Speaking of, go look at it for awhile, because I don't want you staring at me while I'm doing this."

Kassandra did as she was told.

A rustle as Kyra shifted positions, then a deep, indrawn breath and a sigh. "This is going to hurt, Kassandra."

Kassandra nodded for her to do it anyway, then felt the warmth of Kyra's hands, and the first bright stab of pain, as if an ember had crackled out from a fire to land on her skin. Pain that faded quickly. Such was her gift.

Kyra worked steadily, her fingers deft and gentle, and Kassandra closed her eyes and tried to think of something nice, something like a spring meadow by a misty forest of pines, or a brand new set of armor all polished and gleaming, or Kyra naked in her arms, but all she could see was a red sky glowing over dark water, endless in every direction.

A final tug on the thread, and then Kyra was wiping her skin down with a cloth and warm water and saying, "A little higher up and it would have scarred your perfect ass."

Kassandra snorted.

"It's done."

She craned her neck over to look. One continuous line of neat stitches. "You're good with a blade and a bow. Good at spying and tracking. And now, you've a physician's skill with a needle. Is there anything you can't do?"

Kyra's flush was deep and immediate. "Cook," she said, suddenly fascinated by the stitches she'd made. "And I'm hopeless at sailing. Something about being at the mercy of the winds." Then she smiled, self-consciously. "I'm no physician, but it's easier to send people off to fight knowing I can help patch them up when — if — they come back." She picked up a clean bandage and began winding it around Kassandra's thigh. "You made it easy, though. I have to damn near knock Praxos out whenever he needs stitching."

Kassandra waited until Kyra finished tying the bandage, and then she sat up and flexed her thigh experimentally. Back to a dull ache. She could work with that.

Kyra had busied herself with cleaning up the remnants of thread and bandages, and Kassandra took the tray from her hands and pulled her closer so they sat face to face. Then she kissed Kyra, gently; leaned forward so their foreheads touched; closed her eyes and breathed in the warm scent of her and whispered, "Thank you."

"I was ready for you to yell at me."

Kassandra shook her head, smiling as their noses brushed. "Why would I?"

"Oh, I don't know... It's not like you got stabbed because you were busy saving my life or anything."

"You probably saved mine. Those archers would have been trouble."

"I'm not so sure — I just watched you swat an arrow out of the air like it was nothing."

"That... was a first." And it was: another skill Kassandra didn't know she had until she'd done it at just the right moment.

"Whatever it was, it helped me find where that archer was hiding. She just about fell out of her tree." Kyra grinned, then found Kassandra's lips and kissed her, and Kassandra marveled at the rightness of it. "I just want you to be—"

"Safe," they said at the same time.

"That might be impossible," Kyra said quietly. "What are we going to do, raise goats?" Kassandra's own words, echoed back to her from what seemed a lifetime ago.

"I'm beginning to see some appeal in that," Kassandra said. "But I don't think I'd want to do it alone."

Kyra's face lit softly, like a lamp, hopeful in the darkness, and Kassandra's heart beat once, twice, three times. Then the glow began to fade, and Kyra sat back and said, "I need to check if any scouts have returned, and you"— she pulled Kassandra's braid forward to its usual place over her shoulder —"should go to my chamber and get some rest."

The argument rose within Kassandra, growing like a breath as her mind listed off everything she had yet to do. All those misthioi to kill, all those children to rescue. But Kyra... Kyra — who sat before her with furrowed brows and shadowed eyes, who cared enough about her people to learn some of a physician's art, who was the leader of this rebellion — had asked her to rest.

She nodded and let Kyra pull her to her feet. "Will you come back, if you have a moment to spare?" Her words tumbled out in one quick, regrettable burst. "No, forget I asked, you don't—"

Kyra placed a fingertip across her lips. "I'll come back," she said. "But rest first, while I figure out our next moves." Then she kissed Kassandra like a promise, took her by the hand, and pulled her into the passageway.

What else could Kassandra do, but do what she was told?

.oOo.

Kassandra awoke to Kyra slipping into the bed beside her. "How long was I asleep?" she asked, as she opened her arm and welcomed Kyra inside.

Kyra's hair spilled across Kassandra's chest as she made herself comfortable. "A couple hours. I'm sorry I woke you."

Too long. Kassandra had been sleeping on the job. "Don't be. What did your scouts report?"

"The city's quiet, and Podarkes is still cowering in his estate. But they found the children in the fort, under misthioi guard."

"How many guards?"

"Roughly a dozen. I'm still waiting for confirmation." Silence for a moment, and then Kyra shook her head and sighed. "What happens if he starts killing them, Kassandra?"

One child for every day Kyra remained free. "He won't. I won't let it happen."

Kyra played with the fabric of Kassandra's tunic as she lost herself in thought. "I believe it," she said after a while. "Against all reason, I believe it, even if your leg's been cut open like a side of pork."

"It aches some, but it won't stop me from going to the fort tonight."

Kyra's head jerked up. "What?"

"I'm going to kill every misthios there."

"And I bet you're going to say—" She forced herself silent, and tried again. "What do you want to do? Go by yourself? Or do you want help?"

"I want you to come with me, along with however many people you'll need to wrangle all those children once I free them."

Kyra wrinkled her nose. "Playing babysitter."

"Not you. I need you to watch my back."

That made her smile. "Gladly," she said. "I'll tell everyone to make an early night of it, as we'll need all of them to help. As much as I'd like to use wagons, I'm not sure the roads are safe enough..." And as she talked her way through the strategic details, Kassandra found herself smiling at this glimpse of Kyra's mind at work.

Once the plan was settled, Kyra patted her belly and asked, "Is there anything you need before we leave tonight?"

"You, right here, like this." She grinned. "At least until duty calls you away." On the eve of battle, trying to sneak time like a love-addled youth. Surely her grandfather was shaking his head with disapproval in Elysium. But once she tightened her arms around Kyra, and felt Kyra's body settle perfectly into place against hers, Kassandra decided she didn't care.

.oOo.

Miltiades Fort had burned down to a maze of bare stone walls, scorched timbers, and ashes, but there was enough of it still standing that Podarkes's men had been able to turn part of it into a prison camp. Kyra's scouts had snuck as close as they dared to in the daylight. "Fifteen misthioi," they'd said, "with most of them hanging around the ruins near the center courtyard. We think that's where the children are."

_We think._ Kassandra and Kyra would have to make up a plan as they went along.

The last time they'd infiltrated the fort, they'd been forced to climb the seaward cliffs to reach it without being seen. This time, they hid in the darkness of a moonless sky cloaked with clouds, and followed the gentle slope of the road up to the northern gate, where a single misthios patrolled the elbow of the fort's inner wall.

They moved in sync with the misthios's pacing, freezing in place as the footsteps grew louder and creeping forward as they faded away, and soon Kassandra knelt at the foot of the wall and listened to the waves slamming themselves onto the nearby cliffs, driven by winds that left her skin stinging with salt. A storm blowing in.

She traded a nod with Kyra, then began climbing the wall. No pain in her thigh; just a steady ache. Good. Before they'd left the hideout, Kyra had fed her some concoction that tasted like trees, and it seemed to be doing its job.

When Kassandra reached the battlements, she stopped and waited until the footsteps passed directly above her, and then she pulled herself atop the parapet, leapt forward like a sharp gust, and her spear flashed, and the bracer on her right arm took on a dark and wet sheen.

Kyra watched Kassandra lower the body to the walkway, her eyes lingering on the dead woman's bow and helm. She plucked the pilos from the woman's head, put it upon her own, and picked up the torch that had fallen from her lifeless fingers. She'd take the place of the dead misthios, and as she walked with a slow and steady sentry's gait along the wall, she'd buy Kassandra time to assess the fort's interior.

Kassandra followed the parapet down to the courtyard. Voices skidded across the dirt. Two men, walking closer. She slid into the shadows next to a burned-out building and peered around the corner.

Someone was bound to one of the stout wooden poles the Athenians had used to practice their swordwork. They sat with their back to her; slight shoulders, skinny arms pulled tight overhead by ropes at the wrists. Kassandra had a pretty good guess who it was.

She couldn't see the prisoner's face, but as the two misthioi crouched in front of the pole, she could clearly see _them_ right down to their bad intentions.

"Comfortable yet?" the smaller man asked. "Better than living under sticks in the forest."

Silence.

"You're lucky we didn't slice you up like that other harpy. She'll be wandering the banks of the Styx for the rest of eternity."

"Brave of you to kill an unarmed woman." The voice belonged to Melitta, as Kassandra knew it would.

"A job's a job. She got between us and our drachmae."

Kassandra closed her eyes and took a breath. How long until Melitta tried to kick one of them?

"You greedy fuckers."

The man laughed, and she _did_ try to kick him then. The smaller one caught her legs and pinned them under his knees, while the bigger man leaned in close and wrapped a meaty hand around her throat.

"You're gonna be the first to die, you little cunt, for what you did to Panos," he said. "Tomorrow's your last day among the living."

"I hear Podarkes is a right bastard. Maybe he'll skin her alive."

"Then he won't mind if we help ourselves to some of her first." He grinned a gap-toothed grin and grabbed his crotch.

Melitta spat at him. "The Eagle Bearer is coming for you," she said, her head turning from one to the other. "And you too. You'll die by her blade."

Harsh laughter. "The Eagle Bearer is dead. Six of us went to track her down this morning. They're gonna gut her _and_ that bitch who's causin' all the trouble around here. Gonna get _paid_, aren't we Gyklos?"

"Only six of you? She's not dead. You'll see. And Kyra will rescue us."

The man backhanded her, a hard sound that cracked through the wind and recoiled off the stone walls surrounding them. Kassandra's blood rose hot behind her eyes, and she pulled her spear from its sheath. Melitta was running out of time.

Up on the wall, Kyra's torch was slowly moving closer, and in a few moments, she'd be at the top of the stairs leading down to the courtyard.

Kassandra found a small clay pot and shattered it against the ground. Then she crouched in the darkness and waited.

"You hear that, Gyklos?"

"The wind, I bet. I'll take a look." Sounds then, in the silence between gusts: the creak of a swordbelt, hands slapping dirt from leather tassets, footsteps coming closer.

He rounded the corner, and she sprung upwards and drove the spear into his throat, his spine parting before her blade, and as she stared into his eyes, he lived just long enough to know who had killed him.

Movement to her right. Kyra, halfway down the steps, bow drawn, taking aim, taking the shot. A startled "Wha—" and Kassandra was moving, around the corner, spear glinting in torchlight, blood spraying into her face. Kyra stepped into her line of sight, bow drawn again, lining up another shot at some target across the courtyard. She loosed the arrow, drew another from her quiver, and shot again in the span of a few heartbeats. Smooth efficiency.

Four misthioi down, eleven to go. Kassandra dragged the big man's body around the corner and dumped him next to the first as thunder rumbled in from the sea. She pulled a dagger free from his belt, then moved back into the courtyard, where Kyra was already using her knife to cut through Melitta's bindings.

"I knew you'd come," Melitta said as Kassandra and Kyra helped her to the courtyard's edge, where she could rest in the shadows between two large crates. She stared at Kyra, one of her eyes blackened and swollen, while fresh blood ran from a split in her lip.

Kassandra breathed in, and out, not realizing she'd gone rigid with anger until Kyra placed a hand on her arm and whispered, "I know, my blood boils also." Then she turned to Melitta and asked, "Where are the rest of the children?"

"To the southwest, in the tallest building. You can't miss the cages outside," Melitta said, grimacing as she shook the blood back into her arms and hands.

"They'll be numb for a while," Kassandra said. "Think you'll be able to walk?"

"After a little bit, yeah."

She handed Melitta the dagger she'd taken from the dead misthios. "Don't try to be a hero. When you can walk, start moving south, to the collapsed wall." She looked at Kyra. "It won't be long before someone notices the missing."

"I'm going to clear the way to the south, so you and the children will have a straight shot to the exit."

"Then I'll circle around to meet you from this side. It'll give you time to work before I free the children."

"Careful, Kassandra," Melitta said. She pointed to a large building next to the tallest. "They've been using that one as a bunkhouse."

Kassandra's mind mapped out the fort: the misthioi they'd already killed, the ones she'd seen prowling the far walls. Perhaps a handful sleeping in the bunkhouse. Who knew how many lurked between here and the southern exit? And the gusting wind made every bowshot a difficult one. And then Kassandra couldn't stop herself, and her worry leaked out across her face, so obvious that it made Kyra pause.

She lifted her hand to Kassandra's cheek. "Have you forgotten? When I aim at something, I don't miss."

When the stakes were highest, there was no room for doubt. Kyra had left all of hers behind at the hideout. In its place was confidence, tricking the mind into believing she could walk through an inferno and come out unharmed.

Kassandra would not weaken Kyra's belief. She made her face smile. "No, you don't."

Kyra nodded. "Good hunting," she said, and then she disappeared into the darkness.

Melitta had been watching them silently. Kassandra met her gaze, said, "Be careful," and stared at her until she acknowledged it with a nod.

Back up the stairs to the top of the wall, past the dead archer, past the back side of the building Melitta had called the bunkhouse, and then a torch was flickering in the darkness up ahead, clinging to life as it moved through the unsettled air. She ducked behind a pile of stones, waited for the misthios who carried it to come into view, and when his back turned, she swept into him and opened his throat to the wind. Another neck shot; when surrounded by heavily armed and armored misthioi, every strike had to be a killing blow.

She drifted back to the bunkhouse as the air quivered and boomed with thunder. From a doorway, she peered into the dimly lit interior. The wooden floor had burned away, but the next level down was made of stone, most of it intact. Below that was the ground floor, where a burning brazier leaked light up through the hole in the ceiling. She dropped down a level, rolling into a quiet landing as her thigh flared with real pain for the first time since she'd arrived at the fort.

The thunder was cracking overhead at regular intervals now, and muttered curses sounded from the misthioi trying to sleep below. She chanced a quick glance over the edge of the hole in the floor, counted six of them in various states of wakefulness.

She managed to kill two before the others awakened, and then it was chaos, as she flipped the brazier over, cutting the light and scattering hot coals across the floor. She chopped one's legs out with her sword as they scrambled to arm themselves, knocked another's dagger away with her spear, then stuck its blade deep into an unarmored belly.

Something slammed against her wounded thigh, and her leg gave out as her vision went white with pain. _Just a message, just a—_

She moved without conscious thought, turning, seeking her attacker out, reading the angles, power gathering within her, and it surged upwards through her feet and legs as she exploded forward and drove her shoulder into his chest like a battering ram. He flew backwards out the open doorway, and then she had one misthios left to kill, and her sword swatted his blade aside and opened a path for her spear to cut his throat.

Then the skies broke open with jagged lightning, and the rain began to pour, and when she rushed outside, she found Melitta, dagger in hand, scrambling away from the misthios she'd knocked through the doorway.

Melitta's dagger held his attention, and he never even turned as Kassandra floated like a spirit through sheets of rain and speared him through the back.

"This way," Melitta said, wasting no time as she bounded up a set of steps nearby. "Kyra's killed the rest."

Kassandra followed after her, limping now in the fading rush of battle. At the top of the stairway, a body sprawled across the flagstones, pinned with arrows. A long row of cages ran the length of the wall, and then Kassandra heard the crying: lost and desolate echoes of children in despair. Her heart spasmed. She picked up the dead man's axe and hacked at the lock on the nearest cage, moving swiftly up the row while Melitta coaxed each group of children to come out and join the rest.

Then all that separated Kassandra from the children imprisoned inside the building was a heavy wooden door, and when the axe failed to make a dent in its lock, she chopped handholds into the boards on either side and tore it from its hinges.

There was a pause like a breath, and then a swarm of children burst out through the doorway, rushing to join those already crowding around Melitta on the portico.

Kassandra trailed after them, and some of them noticed her and turned and stared, which caused others to turn, and then others, a cascade of attention bearing down on her, and then all of them were frozen in place, gawping at her with terror in their faces. She was covered in blood, she realized. She could taste it every time she opened her mouth, the rain only making things worse. "Melitta, lead them," she said, suddenly weary.

Melitta's whistle was sharp, and it pierced their horror with a sound clearly familiar to all. "Let's go!" she said, and she turned and hurried down the steps.

The children followed like a school of fish, bumping and jostling up the steps and stone pathways, and Kassandra swept along with them as they streamed towards the break in the wall, and once she got there, she stopped and stood motionless, bracketed by dark and crumbling stone, covered in mud and blood and ashes, as the orphans spilled out around her, running to Kyra, running to freedom.


End file.
